


Meat and Fluids (Nny x Me)

by Shadowsdarklight



Category: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Genre: Eventual Romance, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, ME - Freeform, NSFW, Self-Insert, Slow Burn, Stuff, The Author Regrets Nothing, Violence, author insert, makes no sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-04-20 08:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 28,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14256636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowsdarklight/pseuds/Shadowsdarklight
Summary: Johnny is used to at least some kind of control or at least the illusion of it. But what if every ounce of power is taken away and he has no choice but to sit and wait until he can even move. Captured and confused, he waits to see who could possibly have captured him, tying him down in this cold, dark, windowless room.Original comic by Jhonen Vasquez. Roy is and belongs to me.Self-Insert story.(COMPLETED)





	1. Chapter 1

(Nny's POV)

Right across the street, he's right across the street.

I set myself up in a small coffee shop that overlooked the guys house. All weapons hidden on my person to not be suspected. Normally I wouldn't stake out a target, rare for me to even choose a target, but he was the perfect candidate. An old fat man, jiggly and fat, and all alone at home, just watching TV and wasting his existence.

"Hey," my attention was snapped to the calm voice to my other side. I stopped looking up at his window and looked back at the voice. "You seem stressed... need a tea?" The (probably) teen asked, holding out a small cup of steaming brew. "It was but one get one, I figured..." he just shrugged, handing me the beverage.

"Thank you," I said monotone, taking the drink, but just setting it down on the table, going back to the window.

"Mind if I sit?" he talked again. Why would he want to? Can't he just go away?

I shrugged, not wanting to be rude (or draw attention) by saying no. It's been a long day, I didn't need a spree, I just needed one body. One to drag back and paint the wall with. Someone without muscle to fight, and a lot of blood to hold the demon behind the wall at bay. Someone like the man in the window. More weight, more body mass, normally means more blood, probably 6 liters... Maybe 6.5 if I was lucky. The wall was covered in enough blood to keep it red, to keep it wet and thick for a while, but the thing on the other side continued to eat at it from its side. I just needed more, so I could leave it for a few days and relax. I only had a few days left, maybe a week of material attempting to drip to the floor. It needed to get done before the monster got impatient.

The boy say down across from me, messy blonde hair bouncing slightly at the sudden movement. He'd be something like my normal victim, scrawny, thin, tall. Easy to take down, easy to drag back. He was texting on his phone while he sat, distracted, just like the others. I'd say rude, or disappointing, but he has yet to be either of those things. I had ignored him for now, but, then that would mean I had been the rude one. He had sat by me.

"Did you want something or...?" I asked impatiently. I just wanted to get the window man and ago home, finish the wall so I had more time.

"No, no... sorry, I just thought you seemed lonely. maybe wanted someone to talk to... Did you want me to go?" Kinda, I'm in the middle of something.

"No actually... I quite enjoy pleasant company." A small smile returned to his face, sipping his tea. The window man could wait a few moments, he wasn't going anywhere... for the next hour or so at least. "I like your shirt."

He looked down at his black and white stripes, and then back up, "Thank you. I like the jacket." I just nodded. Staring down at the drink. I almost felt bad not to drink it, but I wasn't a huge fan of teas. They made me sleepy, and sleep just wasted time, precious time, I needed that. "Do you not like tea?" he asked sadly.

"Not really."

"Did you want me to get you a coffee instead?" he spoke politely. So far I didn't hate him. He didn't deserve death, at least not by my hands.

"Not a fan of coffee much either, I just came here for the foods." That's a lie, everything here tasted like cardboard and was either harder than a brick or softer than mush. Nothing was worth eating here. 

The boy just nodded, continuing to drink from his cup. "I never got your name," I told him.

He turned to me slowly, almost seeming to wonder if he should give me his name. Or real name that is. maybe he was choosing a believable fake name? As far as i could tell, the one he gave me was real.

"Roy."

Not that a real or fake name mattered, he hopefully wouldn't find his way into my house unwillingly.

"People call me Johnny, but I like to go by Nny. When I can at least."

"Nny? Not John?" I just gave him a glace. "I mean, I like it... it's unique," he said happily. He had pulled out his phone, sending a few more texts I couldn't see and then standing. "Well, my ride's here, I should go, but ah... it was nice talking to you. Maybe we'll bump into each other again soon, yeah?"

I just exchanged smiles with him as he left, tossing his cup ad heading towards the door. As soon as I deemed him far enough away, I took action. I felt my blades attached to my hip, tapping my thigh with every step as I headed to go get the window man. I was just getting around to the back door when something stopped me.

A small sharp ting shocked me up my arm.

A blow dart was sticking out of the back of my shoulder.

I turned to where the dart must have come from, vision going blurry from the dart's effects. I felt another sharp pain under the first, tunnel vision setting in as the second tranquilizer shot through my system. I swayed and felt a dull thud as I hit the ground. Thinking was difficult and it felt like my head was filled with cotton, everything fuzzy and to soft to make out. Moving was hard at this point, clawing at the grass to get away from the presence I helt coming closer, presumably the person that had just shot me, but I wasn't able to move. Aside from softly petting the window man's dead grass like an idiot, until even that motion seemed impossible to comprehend doing. Everything from my brain to my body was numb and heavy.

All I was able to sense was the heat of someone standing over me.

I could barely make out he voice that spoke, sounding almost as it were underwater.

"You couldn't have just drank the tea..."


	2. Chapter 2

(Roy's POV)

"No, no, he wouldn't drink it," I told the buyer over the phone.

"Do you at least have him?"

"Of course, I just used a dart, why would I be calling if I didn't already have him with me?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. I knew enough about what I had done to know the dose for an average sized human, though he was much skinnier than I was used to. I didn't know what he had done in his past for the client to want him, but then again I never really did. A mercenary didn't question things when a substantial amount of money is waved in there face.

I had never killed anyone I kidnapped, only delivered. Who I took I never knew more than their name and face, and to who I delivered them to I never really knew either. Most often or likely it was either a missing family member, or someone who faked their own death. Sometimes it was even criminals that got away, which is what I assumed Johnny was.

I was warned about the man, unconsciously and carelessly slumped, in the chair in front of me. Warned of the things he could do to me if given the chance.

A shuffling of paper startled me as the unknown voice cracked over the line. "Is he alive?"

I was astonished at the question, "Yeah, why? That's what we agreed on wasn't it? You come get him, I get paid. That's the end of it. I never saw you, you never saw me."

"I meant to say, keep him unconscious the entire time, I don't want him getting aw-"

"I can't do that."

There was another pause before an uproar of sound hit my ear, "And why not! That's the safest possible way to keep him put!" the raspy voice said on the other line.

"You said you wanted him alive, that was the deal! I just got him sat down and shot him again to keep him from thrashing. But any more of the tranquilizer could trigger and overdose, and I don't have anything to handle that right now. He'll wake up in a few more hours with his weight, what do you suppose I do with him till then?"

"... Ah... Tie him up," he says as if it was the most obvious of answers.

"He is," I reassured the client, "Anything else helpful you can give me?" I looked left the room in the basement with Johnny in it, going upstairs in an attempt to find more leather rope. Hemp and nylon where strong as rope, sure, but leather was less suspicious and easier to come by in this small town, away from any lake or boating waters. Leather was tight, constricting, didn't fray, didn't stretch (if cured right), harder to break. It was perfect.

"He'll try anything to kill you if he gets out."

"Then I won't let him get out."

"He'll sure as hell try..."

(Nny's POV)

Hurt, Hurt, HURT!

Everything hurt! Why did everything hurt?

I felt like I'd been punched in the face!

I tried to lift my hand enough to rub my eyes, but... Felt I couldn't move them. Or my legs, or anything at this point. Maybe I was still asleep? When did I fall asleep!

No, no, I definitely fell asleep, something made me blackout. Needles where still sticking out of my arm. Or where these new? Yeah, they're new, these ones where pink this time... where the other ones pink? Wait... Where am I?

As soon as I could open my eyes I noticed the chair I had been tied to. Thin strands expertly tied to one another to keep me still, arms tied to my sides and wrists tied to one another with the rope going under the chair, keeping them down. Ankles tied to the legs of the chair kept me from kicking in any way.

"Hello?" I thought aloud, almost quietly. Nothing. "HEY!" The sound bounced off the walls of the small room, but at least some of it must have made it to my, soon to be regretful, capture. Had the window man seen me? Is this his house? Couldn't be, it looked too clean... Had a neighbor seen me sneaking into his house? Did I even make it into the house?

I heard dull footsteps trudging down a flight of stairs through the seemingly thick wall. At least now I know I'm in a basement.

The door across from me swung open, a head peeking in. The eyes went wide in what looked like confusion. He glanced at the phone in his hand before continuing to talk to it.

"Hey, yeah, I'll ah... can you call me back in like five minutes? Yeah... he's awake," the boy stated, hanging up before the caller could answer back and setting his phone on, what I assumed was, a table outside the door before closing it. "Fuck, you weight like... what, 60 kilograms? You shouldn't be awake by now..." He stated almost curiously.

I stared at his hand as it came closer to my face, glaring at it as if it were a disgusting mass of germs and flesh... oh, wait.

I bit in his general direction, my teeth seeming to be the only threatening thing I could use at the moment with my hands (literally) tied behind my back. He barely pulled his hand back. As my jaw snapped shut, almost unfazed.

I screamed at his face while he looked down on me, "FUCK YOU, DON'T TOUCH ME!"

This finally took that all too calm, composed look off his face. "How much do you weigh, you should've been out for another..." he seemed to pause to do math in his head, shrugging, "at least four more hours..."

"...What!?" I shouted back. Weight? WEIGHT!? What did my weight have to do with this? "WHY!?"

He kept his voice calm, like Edger, like Devi, trying to make sure I wouldn't get out of control, trying to calm me down too, and it WASN'T WORKING!

"You're, what, 1.75, 1.76 meters tall? I figured you were at least 60 kilograms, you should still be unconscious with the dosage I gave you." I just blanched at this.

"What's up with this meter... - kilogram shit!? 115 pounds, say it in pounds!"

he rested his head in one hand, the other holding that elbow while he stood in front of me, "115... you're barely 52k, you should still be unconscious-!"

"What did you shoot in me?" Things were getting dizzy again...

He lifted his head from his hand, "Animal tranquilizer... I was trying to check your heartbeat by the way. When I reached for you before." He still remained polite and charming, and it made me feel sick. It was nauseating and off putting and I HATED IT.

"Why exactly?"

"You're underweight, I miscalculated and I wanted to make sure your heart wasn't about to stop."

The dizziness was getting worse.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone draws blood.

(Roy's POV)

His eyes went wide at his fact, "That is indeed concerning." He stayed quiet for a moment, just... staring at me. I reach out again, watching him as I went for his neck. He didn't move, only staring at me, at my hand, back at me, but that was it.

Until it wasn't.

His jaw snapped at me again as soon as my hand touched skin, managing to sink his teeth into the palm of my hand. No blood was drawn, but damn it hurt like it had. He smiled up at me, seeming satisfied that he got me.

"An animal is most dangerous when cornered," he stated, smug and happy with himself.

I've had enough.

He let out a screech and then started screaming and cussing again as I violently grabbed at his hair, moving his head to the side to check his pulse.

"Slow. Weak and slow, but you should be fine," I stated. He started jerking and twisting in his chair again.

"You may have survived if you had let me go when I asked-"

"You never asked me that."

"Oh... really, wow. Can you untie me?"

"No-"

"When I get out of here, I'm gonna pierce your flesh with the broken chunks of this stupid metal fucking chair!" and just like that, we're back to screaming.

Ooh, and thrashing, I wish he would stop that. "Don't bother trying to break the chair, it's sunk into the concrete-"

My phone started to ring loudly outside the door.

(Nny's POV)

Hair hurts now too, the dick. I could hear severa locks jingle from the other side of the door, but he left it open, keeping a curious eye on me while he answered the phone. A couldnt hear what the person was saying on the other end, but whatever it was, Roy (that was his name right?) was not happy about it.

"I thought you were picking him up tonight, that was the agreement?... What about tomorrow?... You can't just say something came up, there's a guy in my basement-... double the payment."

There was a long pause on his phone where he took the time to look back at me. I hadn't moved. I was too busy both trying to listen and trying to pan my escape. And trying to find the most creative way to kill this man. Ducks would be funny... where could I get a duck?

"Yes double it! Or I auction him off to the highest bidder on my dark web site... Wouldn't be the first time I've had to do it!... Six days, You get six days to get him, or he's gone, deals off." He hung up the phone, hands on his hips and face with a smug, confident look, like he had just won an argument. "I'll be back."

Leaving the door wide open, he ran up the steps. Outside I could see a pile of weapons, boots and jacket. MY weapons, boots, and jacket. Every last ounce of artillery I had had on my person it seemed. Meaning he had touched me... a lot. Enough to get all of the C4 out of my pockets and knives strapped to my calves and thighs a least.

It only too a few minutes (probably, I have no sense of time) for him to come back with a few supplies, though he set most of them onto the outer table, so I couldn't really tell what he had all brought. Though, from the sound, I was pretty sure it was heavy and metal... Interesting.

"What's the camera for?" I asked, giving him a disgusted face. I've been on the internet (I have a twitter), and I like about one eighth of the entertaining shit on there. The rest was just disgusting. People touching one another, or 'friendly' interactions. Putrid. I hope this isn't where it's going. Couldn't he just kill me on camera? I'd much prefer that.

"Ooh, I love answering this! Mostly it's for the client to know that I have their intended target, its so messy when you have the wrong person, or a look alike by mistake. And it shows them that you're in the state they wanted you in. Normally it's unscathed, but... every now and then you get the odd request, you know how it goes." No, I really didn't. He was still so chipper about the hole thing. All smiley and... creepy. No one should be this constantly happy. People say positivity's infectious, and I refuse to be a part of this disease.

"You're not recording me-" and the bastard had the GALL to interrupt me!

"Oh, honey, you don't have a say in this," and that sickening smile was back. And the worst part was... he was right. This idiot had this planned out from the very beginning, taking any safe choice he could. The only chance I could think of to get out would be to break out of my bindings and break the door down, but I couldn't move my arms, or wrists. I could barely move my FINGERS FOR FUCKS SAKE! (Wow, you're loud even in your own head.) Shut up!

Roy came back from behind the camera, setting it up before his attempt to display me, with a rag.

"These things are still sticking out of my arm by the way."

"Oh, yeah those... meh, I'll keep them in. the bright color is kinda aesthetically pleasing. Now say 'ah'."

"Aesthe-... what?" he moved the rag, now looking more like a gag as it came close to my face. "No, WHY?"

"Cause you tend to bite anytime I get near you."

"So you come near me so I won't bite you, define irony!" I almost smiled at my own joke. "I'm not putting that in my mouth."

"Like I said before, you don't really have a choice." fast as a viper his face was closer to mine than I was comfortable with in this situation. Physical space normally wasn't an issue, but I normally had some form of sharpy, sharp thing on me for stabbing. And he kissed my nose.

He KISSED my NOSE! MY FUCKING NOSE!

As fast as I could manage, I shot up, teeth snatching at the closest thing in his face and biting down hard enough to feel copper gush into my mouth. I managed to catch his bottom lip and lock it between my jaws, pulling it taught. I wanted to rip it off, but I didn't have enough room for my head to whip around and tear through that sweet flesh. I missed the taste of blood...

He made a small noise of unexpected pain before reeling back, not even angry at his gushing busted lip that he managed to pull from its trap."My point exactly, ya fuckin' piranha," he mumbled, now able to stuff the gag in my mouth with me pleasantly distracted.

Heh, piranha.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear is but a state of mind.

(Nny's POV)

The gag was pulled tight. I couldn't move my jaw, nor stick my tongue out. Saliva pooled out of my mouth with me unable to to swallow it. It's such an odd feeling to not be able to swallow... Or move your tongue at all for that matter. I felt like my tongue was jammed into the back of my throat, like a thick slug or moisture with no other purpose than to try and choke me. I always wondered what this felt like.

Roy continued to tap his fingers on his bleeding lip, trying to stop the slowly slowing blood flow. I really wish I had been able to bite through it. His face would be so much prettier painted in the bright red that had been dripping down his chin just minutes before. Bright red.

Red, red, RED. The light on the camera turned red before he walked over. Lip no longer bleeding, but now a brilliant pink and intensely inflamed.

He walked over to my side, facing the camera... And put his hand on my head.

I whipped my head back and forth, to the sides, anything to get him to stop touching me, I didn't like touches, being touched, I wasn't touchy! His hand gripped my hair again, somehow tighter than before.

(Roy's POV)

He wouldn't stop moving, so I pulled at the hair at the top of his head, trying to give him some sign to stop, he was on camera now. Not that it was that important, it wasn't live, I could always cut out parts of it, but choppy videos never looked go on the site.

And I was determined to make him obedient.

Normally my captives started to listen as soon as they realized there was no escape. And those who didn't realize this... well I normally wasn't stuck with them for more than a few hours.

With my head on his hair, his head still jerked away, I took my other hand and put it under his jaw, lifting his head to the camera. His shoulders still moved, trying to get his wrists free, but the rest of him froze. His body as tense as a loaded gun, as if he at all got loose it would be the equivalent to turning the safety off. I just hope he didn't know how to untie a constrictor knot.

With as much control as he gave me, which wasn't much, the difficult bastard, I went on with my routine. Moving his face left to right for the camera to see, an inspection so they knew everything is as it should be, and everyone are who they should be. Seriously, it gets really messy when you get the wrong person; that lady was NOT happy with me, neither was the client, I ended up getting shot... Messy.

He did nothing but growl and drool, unable to swallow right with the gag in his mouth. He made noises of displeasure with every move I forced him to make, groaning out any noise he could make. Even screaming at one point as I finally pulled out both the needles in his arm. It hurt, sure, but he overreacted, a scream wasn't necessary.

I let go of his hair, and he immediately went back to moving, trying to get out. The leather wouldn't fray, but any more friction like this might make it start to stretch...

"Good boy," now I'm just pissing him off for the fun of it. I shouldn't be playing with fire this high, but I'm already bound to be burned, why stop now? I shut off the camera, intending on editing and sending it by the end of tonight. He'll be a great addition to my collection videos.

I took down the camera from the tripod and started collecting anything else in the all room, as well as finally removing the gag. He took a moment to gasp at the air and swallow down any spit that was almost pouring down his chin. "Well you have a great night. I'll see you in the morning, Nny."

"Don't... don't call me that..." he panted out, wrists tugging at there restraints.

I had to pause for a moment, "I thought that's what you wanted me to call you." It was more of a statement than a question.

"You, vile, pathetic, inbred, no longer have the pleasure of using my friendly 'nickname'." He said 'nickname' with almost a 'tick' to his phrasing. He was nothing but what I could describe as rabid; just seething with pure rage and an intent on destruction.

"... Goodnight, Johnny."

(Nny's POV)

He shut off the light, the switch being in the other side of the door as he closed it. Locks, LOCKS... I heard three of them click shut, wait no, there's four.

I need to get out of here.

(Oh really, you didn't think that was obvious already?)

Shut up, I know what I'm doing!

(You don't though, you're gonna die here, and it's your own fault. Careless and stupid, you couldn't see a threat right in front of you-)

SHUT UP! He wasn't a threat, still isn't a treat, pathetic, couldn't kill anything, even if his life depended on it.

(Let's test that theory, but first, you need to GET OUT!)

I twisted my wrists in their bindings, too tight to slip out on their own, skin too sticky, sweaty. My legs wouldn't budge either, ankles the same way. The only loose material was around my waist, but that wasn't exactly helpful for escaping.

I felt for knots, under the chair, feeling one just out of reach. I pulled a little harder in that direction, trying to get it in my grip, only succeeding in cutting my hand with the sudden jerk.

(Okay, that's not working... is there any way for you to break your thumb?)

"How would that help?" I spoke aloud to the darkness. This was not one of the DoughBoys, I was sure of it, they were at home... but it sure sounded like it...

NailBunny even said so, there not in my head anymore, they have their own bodies, they have their own control, I never bought those statues did I, no, no. They had their own bodies, they MADE their own bodies. Was this a new one, a new voice? I didn't get many new ones-

(You think too loud!)

"Doughboy?"

(Yeah, yeah, it's me...)

"But you're at home... aren't you?"

(Oh, I am, I am, but I needed to talk to you... I'm not in your head, just think of this like ah... like aaahh... Phone call! A phone call in the dark, it only works in the dark, yes!)

"A phone call? To help me get back home?"

(Exactly...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going off the idea that everything in JTHM is real, and nothing is in Johnny's head (anymore). Through most of the comic, he seems like a bipolar schizophrenic, but further into the chapters even the reader has a hard time understanding what counts as reality. Johnny still has a hard time telling the difference, but in this world and that, everything is real, and everything is either felt or see-able by everyone, not just Nny. 
> 
> So, the doughboys are real, and are able to talk to him, but he can choose not to listen to them.


	5. Chapter 5

(Nny's POV)

Darkness is but an illusion of the senses, were light isn't able to pass through the iris enough to perceive color. There was no such thing as true darkness... but it was still hard to adjust.

I wanted to adjust to the darkness, wanted to look at the rope, the knots. See if there was any way I knew how to untie them. This would be so much easier with a knife.

My mouth still tastes like copper, sharp and metallic. I didn't like it. I missed it, but I didn't like it. I didn't like touching flesh and fluids and body parts, but I had to, they made me. It made me. How could I collect it without touching it...

I felt blood trickle down my hand, dripping from my palm to my fingertips.

(Make it slick, slip out, SLIP OUT!)

"I'm working on it!"

(Roy's POV)

I think the poor thing is talking to himself. He's been down there for less than an hour in the darkness. I though with how frantic and exhausted he seemed he would have fallen asleep by now, but I keep hearing mumbling. It was hard to make out words through the soundproof walls, but I could swear I heard another voice.

It's just getting late, I might be starting to hear things.

I did a final check around the house, making sure everything was locked up, no weapons were left out, no knives I put all of Johnny's... ah... C4 away. I'll have to find a way to dispose of that.

I left the jacket by the door in the basement, knowing I'd have to give it back when he gets picked up. Maybe not. Meh, it was a cool jacket, and my style... Nah, I'll give it back.

I had the feeling that as soon as he was handed off, the client would 'mysteriously' wind up dead, then I'd be next. I'm sure of it. I wonder if there was any way to prevent that? Getting myself on the top of his list by tying him up probably wasn't helping, but there's no coming back from that now... Was there.

I locked all the doors I could in the house, putting the key back on my necklace as soon as I was done. For now I felt safe. I could still hear muffled voices coming from the basement, but that just meant he was still there, safe and tied down. Unmoving.

It was midnight when I finally sent and uploaded the video... Midnight. Five hours... I, I'll sleep for five hours, then I'm back up.

\---------------

My alarm clock screamed at me at five am, and I hated it. My normal sleep schedule was at least eight hours, if not ten, but I didn't wanna risk anymore time with me being unaware with him in the house.

Breakfast. Breakfast is needed. I'd make pancakes if I could trust him with his hands, but I can't, so I guess I'm making smoothies.

No noise came from the room as I made them. Maybe he finally fell asleep.

I set the drinks outside the door, hearing whispers coming from the other side. But as soon as I flipped the lights back on, they stopped. No noise came through as I unlocked the door holding, what felt like, possibly the most dangerous person I've ever had in my house.

At first look, he was still in the chair, tied down, head turned down so he stared at his lap. I dragged a chair in with me so I could sit across from him, he didn't look up at me, just shook violently, still tugging at his restraints... but not as hard now. Good, he's giving up.

Or so I thought. As soon as I closed the door behind me, bringing the drinks with me, and sat down, he lunged for me. Having his wrists free and leather loose enough for him to have gotten his forearms out. I was still well enough away from him to not have affected me, but my eyes still widened at the fact.

"Well 'someone' sure made progress last night!" I said, almost congratulating him. "You know, you're probably the first to get more than there hands free." I folded my arms, leaning on the back of the chair while I looked at him. How could I fix this?

I couldn't use anymore tranquilizer, that might kill him, and I didn't want that blood on my hands. Threatening him wasn't working... Let's try something else.

"Smoothie?" I asked, holding up the drink, straw poking out if the cover.

He stared at me blankly. His arms fell to his sides and his face twisted into a mix of annoyance and confusion.

"Smoothie?" He asked back. "I'm threatening your life, and you offer me a SMOOTHIE?" He was more annoyed than actually angry, but the rage still radiated off of him in waves.

"Well, your not really threatening like that... are you bleeding?"

"Fuck off." He was definitely bleeding. His hand was cut open and it was dripping onto the floor. It wasn't bad, it had dried and scabbed over at this point, but there was still a bit on the floor from the night before.

"Give me your hand-" I tried calmly.

"I refuse to touch you unless it results in breaking your arm," he replied, folding his hands in his lap.

I held out the smoothie, just barely in reach. He grabbed it without so much as a 'fuck you' and just stared at it in his lap.

"What's in it?"

The question took me an, "Uh, well, banana, mango, pineapple, ginger-"

"No, you idiot, did you put something IN IT!? To, you know, knock me out again! Tie me back up!"

"Oh, no," I took a sip out if the straw, "but if I did, I wouldn't tell you." I smiled, continuing to drink.

He took a tested sip of it, trying to see if he could taste anything funny. And to my delight, his eyes lit up. Only by a bit, but it was still enough for me to feel quite proud of myself. And for once he was quite, without being unconscious.

And it was almost a calm silence as we continued breakfast. A silence that I broke with a nagging question.

"Why are you here?"


	6. Chapter 6

(Roy's POV)

He looked up at me from the smoothie, a bored expression on his face. "What?"

"Well, someone is paying me an astronomical amount of money so they can have you for a reason I was never told. I just wanna know what someone like you had to do for them to what you this badly," I said, spinning the straw around the hole in the lid. 

He looked down, copying my straw movement, almost looking sad at his answer. "I've done a lot of fucked up shit lately. But he's probably someone that escaped..." his expression changed again, this time to one of curiosity, completely opposite to the sadness a moment ago. "Or maybe he was a friend or family member of someone I used." 

"Used?"

"For the wall, so the demons don't get out." He spoke as if it were the obvious answer. 

Weirdest response I've ever heard, "So... what do you do to this... wall." 

"I use the blood to paint it, the demon wants me to paint it, it's the only thing keeping it trapped there. That's why I need bodies, that's why I need blood..." He finished, head low as he drank again, staring directly at me. "What did you say was in this, ginger?"

"Why do you need to keep the thing in the wall? What would happen if it got out?" Sip.

He didn't answer right away. What felt like a minute passes, and I could here the air pass through his straw, slurping up the last few drops of drink and making that annoying sound, that everyone should know at this point. "I don't know, but I don't want to find out, the DoughBoys don't want to find out either, there the ones that told me to paint it, they work for the wall." 

"Wait, DoughBoys?" But he ignored me, continuing to talk. 

"Well, actually only the first one wants me to paint the wall, Mr. Fuck just wants me to kill myself. The wall monster wants me to kill myself so it can get out, but we don't want it to get out, so we keep painting it so it can't escape, but it keeps eating through the barrier..." He was crushing the cup in his hands while he spoke, word growing frantic and fast. "I need to get home and paint it again, I need to find someone else, soon. I can't let it leave! Do you UNDERSTAND ME? LET ME OUT OF HERE!" 

He went back to trying to get out, a new fear induced motivation this time. Fear that the monster he believed in would escape a wall that seemed to be his motive for murder. 

"Hey, hey..." I tried with a soft voice. I had no idea how to reassure someone in a situation like this. I just took the cup from between his hands, and in turn he looked at me. 

"You need to let me go. NOW!" And I was taken aback. What do I say to that?

"I can't." I checked my phone, it was just hitting eight am. I had just about four hours till the neighbor came to check up on me. She tended to bring me groceries when I didn't have time to run out, I was a busy man after all. 

How does one reassure someone like Johnny? "I'll tell you this..." I tried. He looked up at me, angry and frantic. Fear wasn't quite the word to call it, but it wasn't not fear...? "Five days, he comes to pick you up in five days. Can the... barrier, last that long?" 

He seemed to think for a minute before nodding quickly.

I didn't let him speak, cutting him off before he could try, "And you seem smart enough... When I hand you off, after I get paid... You could probably just kill the client," I tried.

He looked at me confused. "I don't need him after I get paid. He also seems to be rushed, sloppy... forgetful even, I'm sure it wouldn't be that hard. You could even paint the wall with him." 

"And what makes you think that you won't be my first target after I get out of here?" 

Now this one I've thought of. I leaned my forehead against his, keeping my body a decent distance away. Even with his hands free, he could only reach to about his chin if he tried,

I was safe. This was purely for intimidation, "Because I'm the only thing that can keep him from killing you as soon as he has you. I could get you more time..." I said, backing away. 

"That still doesn't ensure your safety for after he's dead." 

"... I'll just have to trust you..." That wasn't happening, but I got the face I wanted from him: pure confusion. This poor thing was broken inside, I figure I'll either need to break it some more... or try to find the missing pieces. 

He had no one to rely on, no one to talk to it seemed, aside from the voices he heard that weren't really there. Nothing was there to stabilize his emotions... 

I'll have to stay calm, act calm around him, keep his guard down. Keep him calm too. He was almost nice when he was calm. Like breakfast, that was nice, as much as it could be with one of the guests tied up at least. 

I'd have to keep up an act of 'trust' as much as I could. Maybe I could get stockholm syndrome to set in, or something along those lines. Anything to not end up at the other end of a knife in this man's hands. 

I put on a soft smile, folding up the chair I brought in and started to head out. 

"Wait!" his voice was angry again, only calming after a pause, "Turn off the light when you leave!" More odd requests, but this one I could actually do.

I continued to lock the door fully, trying to find a suitable way to contain him again as soon as he gets out, because it was obvious that he was going to get out. Soon too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Johnny actually has a twitter that Jhonen set up... It's great.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention I had a neighbor?

(Nny's POV)

I heard all four locks latch shut before the lights were flicked off.

(God damn, finally!)

Oh, hey.

(Douche cut me off before I could finish... What was I saying?)

You were just bitching at me on leaving.

(Right, right... THE BARRIER WEAKENS, YOU MUST-)

Yeah, yeah, I know already, we did this last night. This is the bitching I'm talking about! I just need to get out...

(... You had the chance... )

When?

(He was in the room with you, he leaves the door unlocked when he's in there, doesn't he?)

I'm still tied up though. Can't exactly go anywhere when I can't move.

(You're still tied up!? I thought we got your arms out! How are you not free already!?)

"I'm working on it!" With this I continued to struggle. With my arms free, I was able to slip up and out the upper arm from under the leather, but in doing this, the bindings around my torso and stomach got tighter from the extra bindings around it.. I couldn't bend down enough to reach my ankles either, so I had to reach behind me and untie the... Fuck.

(What NOW!?)

"I don't know how to untie this..." I could hear him laughing at me, "I don't here any other plans idiot!"

(BREAK IT!)

"I CAN'T!" I seemed to scream, but I stopped as soon as I heard Roy, having had stomped on the floor above me.

(Look at you, cowering like a dog at the snap of his fingers... PATHETIC.) I was almost able to wiggle my fingers in between the knots, but it was just barely too tight.

Hey! He was smart enough to catch me and smart enough to make me TRY and escape. I'd almost be impressed if I weren't so pissed about it.

(You're not trying hard enough, get home NOW! We need you HOME!) I could feel my fingers slip through the tie behind me. I didn't know how to untie it, and it still wasn't loose enough to pull apart, but at least this was progress.

"I'm trying!"

(As soon as you get out of this, bolt up the stairs and slit his throat. Use his blood if you need to, he won't do much, but it would be a start... The skinny fucker needs to be taught a lesson for messing with me- us... We can't let it get out.) This didn't sound right.

Where's Bunny? Can I talk to NailBunny?

(Roy's POV)

"Connie!" I exclaimed, hugging my neighbor as she walked in with my groceries. "How much do I owe you this week?"

She set the bags down on my counter, "Around seventy, but I did get those cookies you like!"

"Oh shit, you're gonna make me fat," I giggles, looking at the box.

"So, I saw the tranquilizers in your car, you got another one this week?"

"Yeah, a skinny terrier this time. Owner says he's extremely violent, so I got him locked up in the basement till he wakes up."

I handed her the cash, watching as she poured me a glass of milk, and a small one for hr too. "Aww, poor baby. Need me to pick up some food, treats maybe?"

I looked over at my pantry, remembering the first few times I had lied to Connie. She had bought me two bags of food, for small and large dogs, and a ridiculously sized bag of treats. "No, I got some before I went to pick him up. Besides, we're not ready to use treats yet, he still needs to figure out who's in control here." These cookies are definitely gonna make me fat. Maybe Nny wants a cookie? Shit, what kind of food does he like?

"Roy? Roy!"

"Hm? Did I space out again?"

"Yeah... Where do you go?" To dark places of torture and manipulation.

"Just thinking of what I might be able to do to get Johnny to behave... and stop biting. The biting is getting annoying. He got at my lip earlier!"

I pulled my lip down for her to look at the scab. "Ooh, that does not look good." Out of nowhere, I could here Johnny curse at the top of his lungs. Thank fucking fuck it sounded like a muffled bark!

"Well, I should get going. Someone is awake, you should go take care of the little guy."

"I will..." I should bring him a cookie.

\-------------------

I waited to unlock the door for a minute, hearing the whispers again. I just put my ear against the door. Everything was muffled again, but I heard the other voice again. A deeper voice, one I don't think Johnny could make.

"Are you bleeding again? That won't help you this time, try something else!"

"I'm TRYING, SHUT UP!" There was a hiss of pain and another string of curses from the other side of the door.

What pained sounds I heard finally sent me to start unlocking the door, and finally open the door. The voices stopped as soon as I opened the door, but I still heard it. I still hurt it without Nny's mouth moving...

As soon as I turned the light on, my eyes widened in, what I assumed, was terror. This was a feeling I didn't get often, normally these deals went so well, how could this have happened!?

Johnny was shaking, both arms free, but one was holding the other as it bled. He had cut up the entirety of his arm on one of the jagged edges at the top of the chair, and he was bleeding profusely. Red ran to the floor in small gushes, and all he could do was look up at me in a panic.

"Help! Don't just fucking stand there!"

I snapped out of my trance, immediately rushing over. Stupid, stupid, could have been a trap, stupid! But I didn't care, it looked real enough, and if it was I had to know how bad it is. He flinched away at the sudden touch, but knew enough that he needed help, and I was the only thing keeping him from blacking out... or worse.


	8. Chapter 8

(Nny's POV)

Calm, calm, he was so calm, it was annoying... But it was helping. I wasn't good at staying calm, I didn't like being touched, none of this was right. But I normally didn't have anyone helping me wrap and bandage my wounds either. All of this was new. And I kinda hated it.

"You didn't hit your ulnar artery, so you shouldn't bleed out," he stated, sewing up the gash. Nice wasn't quite the right word for me to use, but I can't think of a word to describe it besides that, so: Having someone sew up my arm was 'nice'. Especially because it was my left arm, and being left handed and not that good at sewing, I don't want the cut to heal wrong in any way. Or get infected.

"Do you have Bactine?"

"Antiseptic? Yeah. I don't have Bactine, but I do have ninety percent alcohol. It's gonna burn like hell," he warned me, finally snipping off the thread. The skin was mostly numbed by Lidocaine Cream (mostly for his protection, so I wouldn't get angry with every stab of the needle) to make sewing up the wound easier without me flinching. Wish I could stop that reflex.

I REALLY wish I could stop it, jerking back at the sudden splash of burning demise... I mean alcohol.

"Shit, fuck, fuck, fuck, shit! BURNING!"

"Bactine hurts too-"

"Not this bad!" Yeah this bad, but the cut's weren't this deep.

"Just be glad you didn't hit a tendon..." Ooh, he knows anatomy! "God, I shouldn't ask this, but can you still move your fingers?" He leaned back as I flexed my hand.

I could kill him. I could do it right now too. He was close enough, leaning back or not. I definitely had the arm reach, the speed, strength. I could just wrap my hands around his neck, or reach into that sewing kit and grab the scissors, but... I didn't. I didn't want to.

Few people are able to put me in such a non-homicidal mood. He reminded me of Edgar in a way. Devi too, she was calm, and soft, and I didn't mind her touching me. I was so intent on death that I had ignored any other signs that might have kept them alive, or close to me...

"Have you ever seen a human brain?" He gave me a strange look at the question. "I'm going with no." I almost felt giddy at the fact that I've seen things that he hasn't.

"No," he stated, wrapping my wrist in gause to slow any bleeding that was still coming through the stitches. "I tend to stay away from blood and death when I can. I don't like the sight of it." He broke off the gauze and tucked it onto itself, making sure it wouldn't unravel once he took his hand away. "What about you, do you enjoy seeing blood?"

I had to think for a minute, "Not really." This surprised both of us in a way. "I don't remember how any of this part of my life started... There are bits and fragments, and broken chunks of childhood and shit, but I know it's not right. I don't LIKE the sight of the blood and gore and visera, the filth of other people, but I don't think I'm in control anymore... I've killed people like i enjoy it, I've even put a smile on my face when I do it, but..."

"... But?" Roy pressed, genuinely curious on what I was saying, suckend into the speech I had given, more to myself than to him.

I couldn't think for a moment. I normally wasn't able to think at home, too much noise, too many voices, the DoughBoys did nothing but confuse me. I didn't like being away from the wall, not knowing if it was close to breaking or not. What was even really behind it, what would really happen it I left it alone? Was the thing behind it even that dangerous? Being away from it helped get my thoughts straight...

"... I don't think I have control of my sanity... Like I've relinquished control of my mind to some unknown entity that's taking over because I don't know it's even there..." He remained silent, packing up the first aid kit, and all its sharpy sharp things inside it.

"Are you... in control now?"

"I think so?" I wasn't sure. But I was sure enough in the moment to try and answer the question. He gave me a soft smile, thinking hopefully at my answer. "You remind me of Bunny," I told him without thinking, going off topic.

"Bunny? Which one's Bunny?

"NailBunny's the one that helps talk me through these things. When the other voices are distracted, or silent, we'd get into conversations like this. About why was in control, or which one of the DoughBoy's was manipulating me... What do you think?"

He seemed taken aback by the question, "Well, you said that one wants you to kill others, and the other wants you to kill yourself," He thought for a moment before continuing, "I think both of them might be."

"... That's what Bunny says." Bunny was probably the closest thing I had to a conscience. He was still a part of me, he was still in my head, but I had to talk to him like the others. The others weren't a part of me anymore.

"I'll be right back," he spoke slowly. Gathering his things and turning to walk out, but he turned and spoke again, "Can I trust you not to move while I'm gone?"

I hadn't expected a question like that. I didn't answer, causing Roy to shift everything he was holding into one of his arms, and take a step back towards me. My legs and stomach were the only things still tied down at this point, but he stepped closer still.

And he said again, softer this time, "Can I trust you not to leave?" he asked.

And I just nodded. He closed the door a moment later, leaving me to my thoughts.

He didn't lock it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nny is such a complex character, but I want to at least TRY and write him right. If anyone has better ways that Johnny would phrase things or how he might act in situations like this, I might be inclined to fit it. All the advice helps others to be better writers, criticism is welcome! Constructive or not!


	9. Chapter 9

(Nny's POV)

I didn't move. I didn't know why, but I didn't. What was I supposed to expect in a situation like this?

If I was one of my 'guests' I'd be terrified that I'd come down with a chainsaw or knife or some shit.

Instead, he came down with a sleeping bag.

All I would have to do is get my legs out, and I could have bolted, why didn't I?

I hadn't moved an inch from my spot. I hadn't moved at all actually, if I had been holding my breath I don't think I would have even noticed. He just smiled at me, thankful of that of that fact, and set down the bag.

THEN, he picked up a knife. Serrated and thin and oh, so sharp. I instantly tensed, seizing my body at the sight of the thing.

"So NOW you plan to KILL ME!?" of course I was defensive, he was coming at me with a knife! Was the bag for my body? Was it a body bag?

He looked at me, and then the knife, and back at me, seeming to mentally facepalm. And then he physically facepalmed, with his other hand.

"I need to cut off the rest of the ties off-"

Why can't you just until them-!"

"Cause you kept tightening then by moving!" He stated, and we both paused as he walked closer. He got down on his knees, sitting in his heels, to better get at my ankles. They were tightly wrapped, and if I still had feeling in my toes they would hurt from how they've been scraping against concrete with my struggling.

I wouldn't call it panic, but I stopped him before he brought the knife to close to my skin.

"Don't cut my jeans."

He looked up at me, lowering the knife a bit, "I'm not going to cut you... don't you trust me?"

I made a similar motion to what he had done before, bringing my face close down to his. But this angle was better, this was comfortable, having control and having leverage above someone.

"With a weapon... not on your life." I didn't like being at a loss for weaponry. I felt threatened, and overpowered, and I DIDNT LIKE IT!

His motions slowed as he sets down the knife by my restrained foot. He just kept looking me in the eyes while he reached for my hands, calm smile set on his features.

"Stop that." His smile dropped at the statement. I reeled my hands back, out of reach. But he's already made it clear that what he wants, he'll make happen. "I don't like being touched," my voice we was monotonous, but it was just as calm as his had been. Soothing, quiet... reassuring...

"That's not the point..." his voice was soft as he reached out again, and I didn't move this time. Though, partially because I couldn't put them back any farther without hitting the wall behind me.

Fingers wrapped around my wrists and I did nothing to stop it. I could have too, easily. The grip was soft, careful even. Guiding, not pulling.

The knife was really close. I could have bent down and grabbed it, and this would all be over. He was so vulnerable, such an easy target, right in front of me. I could have been gone and right out the door, back home, back to Bunny and Mr. Fuck...

Instead, I let him. And he set my hands on his shoulders, right at we're his shoulders slid up to his neck.

"Now it's more even," he stared, leaving my hands there while he reached for the knife again. He continued, "If I hurt you... you hurt me." His eyes flicked back down to the object, finally able to pick it up.

He had to find a gap to wedge the tip of the blade into before he could start cutting at the leather. The only ones being we're my ankle and the chair leg met, making the gap small, but workable. I felt the blade tap against my skin and my hands slipped higher on his throat. He drew in a sharp inhale, only pausing a second, before continuing to slip the back of the knife down my leg and foot. The leather took a moment to saw through, getting caught on the serrated edges every now and then, but it was probably safer than trying to go at it with a smooth blade. One that could slip.

As soon as one foot was free I flexed it, rotating everything I could and stretching out my toes while Roy started on the other ankle.

I really wanted to stand up and stretch out. Maybe run out the door-

"Press your back against the chair."

I stared at him blankly, "Why."

"So I can continue..." That's not what I was asking.

"... Why would you trust my with this?" I gripped his neck tighter for a moment, loosening my grip as soon as the point was made. He seemed to stop breathing, as if afraid I'd actually do it.

And there it was, the fear. The moment I realized it was all an act. That he was truly scared.

Just like everyone else.

could feel him swallow against my hands, the muscles in his neck contorting to drag down his anxiety to the bottom of his stomach. But none of it was obviously shown.

He even joked, able to smile and holding the knife to the base of my ribs, "I could say the same to you..." So I listened, something I knew I wasn't good at when it came to living people. And his nervous little smile was a little less nervous as he worked the blade between my stomach and the bindings. I pressed my back flat against the chair while he lacerated the leather, so I wasn't as likely to get cut up. He went to stand up, my hands coming away from his throat, gathering the loose pieces off the floor.

And with his arms full and no longer having an advantage with a knife to me.

I bolted.


	10. Chapter 10

(Roy’s POV)

I saw him get up.

I didn’t have a good weapon, or tranq, and the door was unlocked. Open even! Stupid, he could have escaped! Stupid!

I dropped everything outside the door, chasing after him as he ran up the stairs. He had just made it to the kitchen when I tackled him. 

He spat curses at me, screaming and writhing underneath me. For a scrawny little fucker, he was strong as all hell. 

When I got him off his feet, he had landed on his stomach, and I intended to keep him in that direction. Amongst the kicking and bucking, he seemed to actually know how to fight, able to get out of different grips and countering attacks. I had to put my full weight on the small of his back just to keep him down, along with using both hands to keep one of his arms down, while the other attempted to reach back and scratch and grab at whatever he could get his hand on. He even tried to kick at my back, but without his boots, it more or less felt like being pet at… just… harder. 

It didn’t hurt.

And I kept him here for what felt like an hour. In reality it was possibly a solid twelve, maybe thirteen, minutes of him blurting out all of urban dictionary, and screaming while he clawed at the air, unable to reach me. 

Just burning himself out. 

When I felt like it was safe enough -- though safety is not a priority right now -- I moved one of my hands to his neck, and it’s like it started all over again, except this time he was able to move both arms, instantly digging his nail into my wrist. With my now free hand, I returned the favor, gripping the wrist covered in bandages. Not painfully at first, but when he refused to let up, I pressed harder.

His one arm was shaking in pain as I continued to add pressure, and he continued to chant ‘FUCK,’ over and over again with each increasing movement. 

I bent down, continuing to add weight to his upper body, my hand still pressed hard against his neck. My wrists slowly getting more and more inflamed and red with the scratching of his nails against it. 

I’ve had to subdue men twice his size like this, but normally I had a weapon, or something more reliant to make sure I would win. But with Johnny… I didn’t know what to expect. 

My forehead hit the back of his skull gentally and his non bandaged hand went right into my hair, ripping at it and pulling, and desperately trying to get away.

“Calm down,” I whispered into his hair, slow and steady. And the swearing stopped, now replaced with huffed panting. The hand I had placed on his neck went to his other wrist, taking it from my hair and pinning it to the ground, next to his head, like the one on the other side. He still struggled, trying to roll offer, or kick at the floor to buck my off. “Johnny… You need to calm down…” 

He seemed surprised that I had used his name. Almost as if he had forgotten he gave it to me in the first place. 

All movement stopped. 

I would have thought he had fallen unconscious if he hadn’t spoken a moment later. Voice emotionless and strained, tensed, “I need to get home… I need to fix it!” His heartbeat was frantic, almost to levels of terror, but the fear was coming from his ideas rather than myself.

I kept with whispering softly into his hair, thinking that it was the only way to get him to listen. So far it was working… 

“You have time, remember? You have DAYS left…” I wonder what the wall looked like. A morbid curiosity ran through me at how many people it would take to cover a wall… images of how it would look ran through my head. I imagined thick layers of coagulated fluids caked onto a wall in a thick blackening paste while it continued to dry and chip off in chunks…

“I can’t have you leave just yet…” 

His voice got angry at this, “Why!? Because I’m your MEAL TICKET!?” He bucket up again, pushing his arms up and off the floor, finally throwing me off. 

He tried for the door, but I had it locked. The doors were almost always locked, if I could help it. Each having an older locking mechanism to it, only openable with the skeleton key I kept. And just about lock pick proof. 

He looked at the small window atop the door, and paused for a second. He was going to break it. I slammed my body again his, knocking the wind out of him before he could try. I kicked at his ore ankles, knocking him to the ground, trying to get him back in the other position. Instead, he refused to turn over, staying on his back for more use of his legs and back. He kicked at me while I tried to get back on top of him. Flailing his limbs while I sat on his thighs to keep him from kicking. His arms scratched at my face and neck, almost getting a hold around it. He managed to pull out the key necklace, going slightly wide eyed as he saw it, knowing what it was for. Escape. 

I got his hands together, holding his wrists together with both of my hands, and holding them to his chest. He whipped his head back and forth, that being the only thing he was still able to move. 

I would have tried to get close again, attempting to keep him warm, calm. A false security he could hold onto while I talked. But I was afraid he would bite my fucking ear off. But I kept quiet still. Kept a hushed voice, only being close enough for him to hear me. 

“I can’t let you go…”

“And why NOT!” his voice seathed out through his teeth. 

I paused for a second, trying to come up with something believable, something that could get him on my side. But all I could think of was the truth. “Because the client knows who I am…”


	11. Chapter 11

(Roy's POV)

The movement only stopped for a moment, allowing me to speak more clearly.

“I don’t want to hurt you…” He paused again, narrowing his eyes at me. “Do you want to hurt me?”

He just looked up at me, jaw moving as if he’d answer, but he didn’t want to. Saying yes wouldn’t get him anywhere, but he knew I wouldn’t believe him if he said no. So he kept quite. 

And I continued. “The guy that hired me got past the VPN I set up and tracked my location. Normally I can just deliver the kidnapped person right to the client, avoiding them knowing my identity and address and name, but…” 

Johnny was far from cooled down, but his tense muscles slacked a little. 

“So what, some jackass that needs you to do all the work knows where you are. Big deal!”

“... He knew how to hire me, he can just as easily get a hitman. I just gotta got him what he wants and he’ll let me be.” 

“You could always just give me HIS name and let ME GO!”

“I don’t know his name, that’s how the negotiations normally work! Everything’s anonymous!”

“... That’s stupid.” his eyes stayed narrow, looking around the room again, but he wasn’t struggling anymore. “I think I have the same tile in my kitchen,” he stated, offhandedly. 

“I’m gonna need you to get back in the basement.” His attention snapped back to my face in an instant. 

“Fucking try me.” Great. This would be so much easier if he was on his stomach! I even tried turning him, but I was only rewarded with another mouthful of profanity while he set his feet on the ground below us, not rolling over. So instead, I had to pull his hands down to his sides and attempt to put them behind his back. On the upside, his hands were now behind his back, on the down side, we were now chest to chest with my arms wrapped around him to keep him in place. He let out a growl, jerking his arms in different directions, but unable to get out with how I was holding them. He obviously didn’t like any form of invision to his personal space, getting uncomfortable at even the thought of it, it seemed. 

And I made it much worse.

I needing to slide up to his pelvis so I could stand up, dragging his body up with me. How I was going to get him down the stairs this way, I had no idea, but his was a start at least. 

At this point I had him pressed back up against the door, back to it and stomach to mine. We weren’t able to move much, or at least he wasn’t, but in my mind that was a good thing. 

His eyes kept flicking down to my neck, and the chain around it. I knew he was thinking about it, who wouldn’t? In moments, he could get and and run for it… I wonder if he would feel guilty.

Leaving me to die. 

Probably not, therefore I wouldn’t take the chance. I couldn’t. Talking about it seemed to be helping though. I wonder if talking helped get his mind cleared out, like having to think about something so hard you have to form words, therefore you’re actually HAVE thinking about it. It helped me at least. 

“Talk to me,” I requested. He just seemed to scoff at me. 

“You expect a conversation. A chat like over tea and scones you self righteous prick? Some little speech before you attempt to drag me back to the-” I pulled us away from the door, a miracle seemed to happen because I was able to spin him around through his monolog. He let out a grunt when his ribs hit the metal casing of the door… again. 

“I like it when you talk.” It keeps him distracted. 

“Why? Like the sound of my voice?” His tone was annoyingly sarcastic, squirming against the door and continuing to stare at the doorknob. 

I put my ear back up to his ear as I had before, my voice just as soft and smooth, but now with a hint of flirtation. I had to keep him confused after all. “Of course I do…” I pressed him harder against the door, cheekily grinding against him before I pulled us back. Pulling him away from the wall and towards the stairs as fast as I could get him to move, before he had a time to think. He didn’t blush, or go red in the normal means, but I could just feel the heat crawling up his back and radiating off his neck. 

Oh, he was uncomfortable, but he sadly wised up before I could get him down the steps, hooking his foot around the wall next to the stairs, effectively stopping our movement. 

“Come on,” I just about wined into his hair, giving him a slight nudge. He just stared down into the depths of my home, dreading the darkness aside from the hanging light in that small soundproof room. 

“And what could you possibly do if I refuse?” His voice was frazing it like a statement, a temptation. He wanted to know if I could ever hurt him.

So I let out a small threat, breathing into his hair again. I really should let him shower… and probably pee. “I swear, I will throw you down these stairs, and I’ll cross my fingers that something breaks…” 

He chuckled to himself, “If you wanted something to break, you had the chance too many times to count already.” I could just hear the smile behind his voice. That tempting, teasing tone that dared me to just destroy him. 

I used my foot to unhooked his from the corner of the wall, forcing him to stumble forwards on the first few steps, and almost willingly heading down the rest of them. I wonder if he had taken my threat seriously. 

Though after the last step, he tripped over his own feet when I changed our direction, heading towards the basement bathroom instead of the cell.

I pushed him in the room, letting go of his arms. He looked at me in aw, wondering what the hell I was thinking. I spoke only one sentence before closing the door, locking it from the outside. 

“Take a shower.”


	12. Chapter 12

(Nny’s POV)

Who gets a bathroom with a lock on the outside?

There was only a single click from the lock before I heard him heading upstairs, this room seeming to not be soundproofed.

I screamed and banged on the door, hoping for a response, but again, all I got was a foot stomping on the ceiling above me, telling me to shut up.

I was far from comfortable for getting naked in someone else's house, but I really did need a shower. I could feel my nails caked and cracking with blood and dirt, and I felt overall sticky from… just… everything. When was the last time I even took a shower? My bath was filled with congealing body parts and acid, so it was hard to bath aside from the occasional dunking my head in the sink so get off the splatter.

So, hatefully, I took of everything aside from my underwear, those are coming in the shower with me. I could just imagine him trying to sneak a peek at my body. An uncomfortable shiver ran up my spin at the thought, and I stepped into the shower.

Or at least i was about to, until I heard the door unlock. I attempted to scream at him when he opened it, but I was greeted with a faceful of a new set of clothes. New wasn’t right actually, more like recently washed, still warm from the drier and smelling like fucking daisies and tide. It was the outfit I had met him in at the coffee place. The striped shirt, black jeans and socks too i assumed. Along with his… underwear. Not wearing those.

On the other side of the door I could hear him shifting shit in the cell across from me.

“I don’t hear the water running,” he spoke aloud, as if me being his captive was a joke. It might as well be, everything about this situation was pathetic.

The water hit me hard with the amount of pressure it used. I’d almost like the water pressure if I could understand how this stupid shower handle works. The amount of blood and dirt and etc. seemed to roll of me in blacked and brown and red sludge was unbelievable. My gauzed up arm soaked up a lot of it, dulling the stark white into an almost tan color. I also just pissed on the floor, too lazy to get out of the shower and do it, it was too nice and warm in here.

I half washed my hair, refusing to use the shampoo in the corner that said ‘MINT’ in thick bold letters. That reminds me, I really should buy more soap for at home.

There was a knock at the door, drawing my attention, and forcing my to turn off the faucet in an attempt to hear it. Or make it really fucking cold, that works too!

“You dressed yet?”

“Don’t you dare fucking come in here!” there was just a chuckle on the other side of the door. I stared at the heap of his clothes, now cold from sitting on the floor where I had left them, and actually contemplating putting on the undies now that mine were soaking wet. Fuck it, they looked more comfortable than this.

The shirt was almost baggy on me, falling down my shoulders at my lack of… anything really; Mass, muscle, fat.

I wasn’t that big a guy, I was just kinda tall, that’s it. And even then, I wasn’t really that tall to be honest. I was just skin and bones, and I really wanted a sandwich. Probably something with ham, maybe tuna. Did Roy even like tuna? I wonder if he had any?

There came a knock again and, when I didn’t respond, the door opened. He stared at me pleased, glad I had actually worn the outfit instead of putting my clothes back on. Though I just got of the shower and, like me, you could guess what MY clothes were covered in. I’d just have to get right back in the shower!

He was armed with another tranquilizer in his hand, but I think he was trying to hide it behind the door. But, come on, the stupid neon pink fluffy end was obvious! Apparently It was safe enough to try and knock me out again if need be.

He caught me staring at his hand, his smile wavering at how fast I caught on. “It’s just insurance if you try anything… again. You really gave me work out tonight, I don’t think I’ll have to go to the gym tomorrow.” His smile was too happy, it was unnerving. Whenever I smiled like that someone normally ended up splattered up the wall. And floor. And ceiling.

Tonight, he said. It’s only been two days of this. Four left, right? Fuck, it’s only been TWO DAYS!

I looked past him, through the door, to my room across the hall. The door was only open a crack, but I could see it looked… different. Roy stepped out of the way and gestured for me to leave the bathroom and go to my place. He shifted the dark in his hand, making it obvious that he was willing to knock me out as soon as I made a sudden move.

So as any insane person would, I sprinted towards the stairs again. His movement was surprised and frantic, yet composed enough to know that this was a possibility. And there it was, that sharp pain in my back, right below my neck. And I immediately collapsed to the floor. I waited for it to let me blackout. I figured if we were doing the same thing as before, he wouldn't have the chance to use tranquilizers again without fear of an overdose… but this time was different. Instead of blacking out, i just couldn’t move. I was completely conscious and aware, and I could blink and hear and almost move my lips, but I was completely paralyzed as soon as this shit hit my bloodstream.

“Oh, thank fuck that worked.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second thoughts.

(Nny’s POV)

I tried to snap my teeth at him as he lifted me up and placed me back in my room. But instead of tying my back in the chair, he set me down on the sleeping bag that he had spread out on the floor. I have no idea how he had rolled this thing up in the tight ball he had carried in here, but this thing was thick. I could still tell I was on a cement floor, but it wasn't that bag through the layers of pure fluff behind me.

The drug should only last a few hours at most, the next twenty minutes at least, so I’m assuming you’ll be up and moving within the next few minutes if you react to this like the tranq.” he shifted around a bit, shoving a pillow under my head.

I could almost move my fingers, but I felt stupid and weak at the feeling. I felt useless.

“I figured you’d be hungry, but we never got the chance to talk about that, so there’s a grilled cheese on the chair. And a pickle. I don’t know if you even like pickles, but please eat the sandwich, I feel bad for how… small you are…” His voice trailed of as he touched my stomach. His hands curled around my waist and ribs, just touching, feeling. It was both disgusting and pleasant at the same time. I couldn’t tell if I liked it or not. I kept my mouth shut, even though I was sure I couldn’t make out actual words in this state.

And I almost whimpered when the soft touches left.

(Roy’s POV)

I could feel every bone through his skin. I could count almost all of his ribs, even the false ones without even trying. I could probably trace out his organs if I tried, there was no fat to conceal or separate them. His heart rate didn’t match up with his current situation though, beating far too fast.

I closed the door and clicked every lock, but I didn’t go upstairs. If i’m only sleeping five more hours, I could stay up a little later.

I wanted to hear the voice talk again.

I wonder what the voice would say about the illusion of trust. The illusion of this slight freedom. Nny was untied after all, free to roam around the room, eat a sandwich, exercise if he had to. I wondered if Johnny truly wasn’t in control, possibly being manipulated with what he was told.

So I shut off the light, and sat down below the switch right outside the door. And stayed silent.

For the longest time there was no sound. Just a heavy breathing from the other side and the occasional shifting of fabric on fabric as he finally got his mobility back.

I was expecting whispers to start, or some kind of steady pick up of a conversation.

But the other voice just… started.

And he was angry.

“Pathetic,” it started, it's deep voice booming from one end of the small space. “Are you even trying? We need you back here, now!”

“I can’t move my legs,” was Nny’s monotone response.

“I’m talking about before, you were so close, and you FUCKING CHOKED!” Johnny didn’t respond. The voice grumbled while I heard the paper plate crumble against the chair. “Why would you eat something you haven’t made yourself! It could be drugged!” The response to that was a defiant crunch of a pickle.

“I’m already in the room, I was already immobile, why would he need to drug me again,” though it was phrased like a statement rather than a question. At least he was smart enough for that. What was the voice? The my first thought was that it was one of the Doughboys, but how was I able to hear it too?

“You were at the door, you almost had the key! You could have broken the window, went or the other door, why are you STILL THERE! You just took a shower and went to bed, like a good dog, wearing your masters clothes, you’re even sitting down on your little cot enjoying a treat… Do you like it there?” The voice seemed spastic, confused. Sure he could have gotten out if he really tried, I was sure of it at this point, but I would sure make it difficult. Though it seemed all too easy to get him back down the stairs. Sure he struggled, but not as hard as he had before.

And to the voice, Nny once again didn’t respond.

I could hear crumbs hitting the paper plate while he stayed silent.

And the voiced boomed through the door again, “Do you like it there!?” He wanted an answer. I did too actually.

“It’s quite.” More crumbs hit the plate, his voice muffled with bread and… wait, what kind of cheese did I use?

“Get back here and finish your job, there are people waiting for you in the basements, down in the levels. They’re gonna die down there without you anyways, just come back and be useful. We collected them for there blood, it’s all but ripe for the harvesting that isn’t happening. My master doesn’t wasn’t to wait much longer and the gate grows thin by the day. I can hear him tapping, like rats in the walls. I don’t want him in this world!”

“... Is it even real? Is my safety at stake, or just yours-”

“It’s everyone! Everything that lives is in danger, and you can stop that! Just COME HOME, NOW!” The Doughboy was desperate, terrified. Real or not, and at this point I’m willing to believe anything, it had enough of a consciousness to understand its own death.

“Wouldn’t staying away be safer for me then… If it’s that much of a threat than I should just… stay here,” Johnny tried to reason with it. Just this morning he was trying to escape, was he not going to go home?

“But you could prevent it all from happening! Don’t just be a pet to some twink that keeps you closed off in a cage, come home and do your job! Come home to us!” So you can be locked away there, forced to paint a wall until you die and having no freedom for anything else. What are they going to do when he gets old, or killed, or kills himself. Do they even have a backup, a plan B? Just go to that!

“Too much, it’s too much, too much input, I need it to stop, to slow down, I need it to be… calm. I need to focus! It’s all excess, pooling out of my brain and into emotion, I hate it, I HATE IT!”

And that’s where I stepped in. I gave a light tap at the door, knocking twice. All voices stopped. All movement stopped, there was no shifting of fabric, and it was almost as if he was holding his breath with the silence.

There was a stutter to my voice as I spoke again, just loud enough to get it through the door, “Want me to turn the lights back on?”

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE!” the second voice claimed, not over with there conversation.

And then Johnny's small voice made it through, “Yes.”


	14. Chapter 14

(Roy's POV)

Well, I did it.

It's six in the fucking morning, and I'm making pancakes.

Fucking... Why.

I wonder if Johnny ever slept? Not once have I walked in on him asleep, or even drowsy for that matter. The bags under his eyes were dark and sunken in to the point they looked bruised. Or like eyeliner someone forgot to wash off and it got smeared down their face against the sheets. But it's like... under the skin.

I set everything up on a little tray so I could bring it down the stairs without dropping it. I mean, it was still paper plates and plastic cups of orange juice, but I really didn't wanna clean liquids and syrup out of the concrete. It's already gonna be hard to explain the miscellaneous blood stains to Connie, but I really don't need her questioning things any more than normal.

I tapped against the door, letting him know I was on the other side. I set the tray down on the other side of the door on the little table. Wow, how tired was I the first night, I left the taser on the table... I should really move that...

He was sitting in the corner when I opened the door, sleeping back wrapped around him in a big twisted knot, not even open. But completely continuous.

He was wedged between the wall and the chair, trying to get comfortable in the tight space that I probably couldn't even fit in. And he just stared at me. Didn't get up, barely even looked out the door. Just... stared. So I put a big smile on my face.

"I didn't know what you'd like, so I-"

"How much did you hear."

He was figuratively and literally cornered, trying to be defensive as much as possible.

"All of it." He twitched at the answer, neither angry nor confused at the answer. It just wasn't the answer he was hoping for. "You know," I started, "the buyer... You still have three days. As soon as he gets here, I get paid, it's an instant funds transfer. And I'd like to... Hire you. In a way."

His curiosity was peaked now, eyes widening with interest.

"Technically, once I hand you over, you're no longer my problem, but maybe you could be an asset. He still knows information about me that he could hold over my head any time he wants something. But maybe once you're alone with him you could make my problem, sorta... go away."

"So you're asking me to kill him for you."

"... Yes. It felt weird saying it out loud. In my head I knew exactly what I was asking, but saying it out loud. The idea that I was asking someone to end a life for me, just to make my life easier... I didn't know what I was saying. But it was happening. "Hey, Johnny?"

"What?"

"Could I call you Nny again?" I asked, his eyes finally locking with mine, "I like it."

"That depends."

"On what?"

He paused for a second to articulate his words. He may not have been sleeping, but he was tired. Wired to no end, but behind that it seemed like he needed sleep. "Do you forgive me, for trying to escape?" I just nodded my head, smile turning a bit more genuine at him. "Than yes... and yes."

"What's the second yes for?"

"I'll kill him for you. If you really need me to." He stared down at the ground again, crushing any leftover bread crumbs into the pores of the concrete between his feet.

After breakfast, which Nny joyously wolfed down, I had an idea.

"Do you wanna make lunch with me? Upstairs?" And he agreed. I wasn't gonna let him roam freely, no. I mean, he almost got away yesterday! Though, Johnny didn't seem so understanding when I handcuffed him to the fridge. "So what can we make that you can hold, because I'm not risking uncuffing you."

"Aww, don't you trust me?" he mocked.

"Roaming freely, not on your life," I mocked back. A shy smile dripped through, finally showing on his face. He liked me playing along.

"Wraps."

"What?"

"Wraps. You said something I could hold and eat, you got anything for making wraps? Or like, a taco?" he asked, accepting the fact of standing near the fridge quite easily actually.

"How about tacos tomorrow, I don't have the spices for it, but I think I have chicken for wraps," I started, walking towards the fridge. I don't think he realize that I needed to open it in order to get what I needed. He had his hand holding the handle to put slack into the chain, so I put my hand over his to open it. His face was static and expressionless, but there it was again. That heat. I was so close to him while I opened the door that I could feel the warmth creep up his neck again. Radiating off his face. As far as I was concerned, that's the closest thing I was gonna get to a blush.

It happened again, at least on some level, whenever he noticed I walked too close to him. Anytime I touched him.

"Are you getting sick?" I asked, placing my hand on his forehead while I let the meat heat in the pan. "You're warm..." His face burned against the back of my hand.

Swiping my hand away, he mumbled something along the lines of 'fuck off,' but it wasn't threatening.

I turned back to the cooking food and continued speaking. "So, if I were to hire you to take out the client," it felt terrible discussing this out loud, "What would you want in return? As payment, I mean."

He paused for a minute or so, or at least long enough for my to take the pan off its burner, he stayed silent. As if deciding what his next big choice might be. Would it be money? My head on a stick? Maybe he'd just take his freedom as is and leave. I would miss him, he's fun. And then he spoke, "Could I... stay here for a bit..." He refused to make eye contact with me.

"Wouldn't you want to go home? I thought you had things to do? You know, people to kidnap, a demon to keep at bay..." It sounded ridiculous out loud, like most things did, but the voice had convinced me that at least most of Johnny's stories had been true.

Nny was leaning against the fridge, holding onto the handle to tight his hands turned paler than they already had been.

"They're not my responsibility to do..."


	15. Chapter 15

(Nny's POV)

Lies, lies, everyone lied to me. Even Roy had to lie to me in the beginning, just to get me at this point, but Doughboy. The Doughboys have been lying to me all along. They never ONCE even TRIED to explain what was behind the wall, what it could do, what it all meant. Even if they're not lying to my face, they manipulated me by not telling me the whole truth of the situation. My life didn't seem to be at stake here, and if it was, the only one that wants the entity IN this reality has been trying to get me to kill myself for the past FOUR YEARS. FUCK!

How could I have been so BLIND, so STUPID!? The lying bastards in this world were not only around me on the streets, but also right in front of me in my own home! Whispering, telling secrets, telling LIES... Forcing me to follow demands that risked my life and sanity while they stayed home and marinated in there own filth and wasted away, knowing i would come save them. All they had to do was say the right things, and their puppet would come back, taught at the strings and screaming through its painted on wooden mouth. For it cannot speak unless instructed to.

But that's over, I'm DONE! A poppet I am NO MORE! No more voodoo or bullshit! I'm the one taking the strings, taking the needles to plunge into the dolls of me they carried around. I'M in control of my own mind, I NEED to be.

"They're not my responsibility to do..." I told him, when he asked why.

I didn't need to go back to where I knew I'd get yelled at. I didn't need to go back to the place that caused me nothing but torment and depression.

At least one of the Doughboys would get what he wanted, and the thing would be out. If I wasn't there how could it even find me? It's safer here, No windows, locked doors, soundproof basement. It's be the perfect bunker to hide from anything that came after me!

"It's safer here," I finally stated after Roy had stared at me while he emptied the meats and dressings into their soft shells. "There's no one to bitch at me for doing the wrong thing, even though it's not the wrong fuckin' thing... No one to place blame on me, even when it's not my fault, not my choice, not my control..."

I don't remember how I got on the floor. My hand was above me, still attached to the door while I slid down it's surface, finally feeling my ass hit tile.

"Do you want cheese?" he asked, unfazed at my mini melt-down.

"Yes please." I don't know how I was able to answer, my mind so emotionally drained, I felt like I was on autopilot. Numb and unable. Useless.

Roy seemed to think for a moment, contemplating what he might do next with how I was seated, how I was acting. And he sat down too, right in front of me. He slid my plate near me, the perfect little wrap sitting nice and pretty on top of the paper.

And, sadly, I pushed it back.

"I didn't feel hungry anymore." I picked at the scab that peaked out of the gauze, waiting for a comment.

My stomach twisted at these new thoughts, these these- independent thoughts. Thoughts that I came up with on my own on how my life could turn out without the information being force fed to me like a deep feeding tube. And that tube had been retched from my gut, making me sick and twisted. The tube hadn't wanted to be pulled out, but now that it's out, I refuse to put it back in. A flavorless fluid flowing through my organs. I wasn't going home where they could force it back down my throat! 

"That's okay," was all he said. And for a moment, I wanted to smile. I don't think I physically could at such a pleasant emotion, but I did. And even though it was only a few millimeters on each side, Roy still saw it. And he smiled back, a true smile. Not one that seemed forced, or protective, or hid the fear of danger he knew he was getting into when he first started this. One that hadn't scared me because of the intentions behind it.

And everything was nice for once.

And then there was a knock at the back door. Roy went into immediate panic.

"Roy toy baby, I brought your CD's back. I found them in my car!" A voice announced.

"Shit," he whispered between us, "I-I'll be right there, give me a minute!"

The immediate panic turned into a tornado of frantic movement, cleaning the plates off the floor and throwing, just, EVERYTHING into the fridge. And in the four seconds that took, two of them were spent staring at me. Eight more seconds were spent getting me off the floor and, I'm assuming, coming up with some form of an idea.

"I-I, I need- I don't have time to put you in the basement," he whispered harshly, unlocking the handcuff from the fridge and snapping it next to the other jaw of metal, almost making a bracelet. And I just barely realized... I didn't mind him touching me. The only positive version of a relationship I have for reference was with Devi, and that... ended poorly. But even with her, all we ever did with contact was hold hands, or the occasional touch of thighs and arms, FUCK, I couldn't even KISS HER! And she never initiated it, I always had to go out of my comfort zone, seek affection. But Roy... Pulled the comfort of my introversion right out from under me without so much as a second thought. It was sudden, and uncomfortable, and depressing, and...

"I need to know you won't run if I open that door, that-that you'll just go with this for as long as she's. Because if she gets even a HINT that something is wrong, she'll call the cops. And we both know we're BOTH FUCKED if that happens!" his whisper hissed through his teeth while he tried to make emphasis on words without raising his voice. "Can I trust you not to run?" I immediately answered yes; weather I'd actually follow that, I wasn't sure.

Though my insides burn with unfamiliar mixtures of appreciation and anger and confusion, and I don't know what to do with it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Different.


	16. Chapter 16

(Roy’s POV)

“Connie!”

Everything’s going well so far. He hasn’t gotten up from the table, Connie wasn’t dead, or asking questions-

“Who’s this?” Fuck.

“This is…” Fuck, Fuck, FUCK!

“My name's Johnny, but my friends call me Nny, how you doing,” Johnny suddenly spoke, sounding way, WAY, too nice for it not to be an act. His hand clutched his wrist, while the other grabbed at the underside of the chair. I really should change the gauze.

“Well, nice to meet you,” she started, before turning to me, “You finally found a cute one, huh?”

“What?” Did she think we were… wait…

She sat down at the table, across from Johnny, and I sat next to him, feeling awkward to be the only one standing.

“So,” she started, “How long have you been dating without me knowing, huh? It’s not every day you have company now is it?” You have no idea. The look on her face said that she was actually happy for me. But the look on Johnny’s face wasn’t as cheery. In fact, he looked just about ready to lunge at her.

I grabbed his wrist under the table, pressing his hand flat to the seat of the chair. He stared at me, irritated and annoyed.

But Connie just gave me an escape… So I went with it.

“Just a few days, a few dates. Eating with each other, nothing much,” I stated convincingly. He looked at me in shock and confusion, but said nothing, knowing he’d just have to go with it. And thankfully, he did.

I mean, he didn’t say anything, but he wasn’t refusing the false information, so… Good enough.

“Well aren’t you a busy bee! I bet you don’t have any time left for your hobbies now, with the dogs and all this.”

“Hobby?” Nny questioned, now slightly interested.

“I paint when I don’t have clients, or- dogs to take care of.” I tried to say nonchalantly. Johnny’s nails dug into the wood of the chair, pulling up paint while he looked at my hand against his. “They’re not great, but it feels good to get ideas down so I can look at them more clearly. Like, I can paint out my problems to get a new angle and a more clear view of what’s wrong… maybe even try to fix it if I can see what’s actually wrong.”

I think he looked around the house to try and find some of the pieces, but I didn’t have any hung up. Anything with a frame or canvas could be used as a weapon, and anything taped to the wall just looked like shit.

“Oh, you’re not gonna find them hung up,” Connie started, “he’s too shy to display his idea out in the open.” She said it with a confidence that told him she had been one to already seen them herself. “Welp, I should get going, I was just making a lasagna and was wondering if you wanted to join, but I see you’re busy,” she stood, leaving the CD on my table and headed for the door. “I will be coming back to talk about this though,” she said, pointing between the two of us before leaving. I ran up to lock the door again, pressing my back against it, and making sure she hadn’t left anything behind to come back to get.

And then Johnny started talking, “I think… I use to paint. Or at least draw…” And now I was intrigued. I stopped him for a second, asking him to follow me to the bathroom, and he did without question, watching as I unlocked the cabinet to get out the same first aid kit as before. He knowingly sat on the toilet's lit, oddly calm as he let me change the dirtied gauze. “I remember that I was good at it…”

“What did you paint?” I asked, unwrapping a new, white strand of fabric to cover the healing scar.

“That I don’t remember. It feels like such a long time ago, it’s so fuzzy. I don’t know if I still have the ability to create something so simple as a drawing. Or even if I did, I don’t think I’d know what to make.”

“What do you mean?”

“Aside from stick figures, I don’t even know how long it’s been. An old friend of mine once said that she felt like… since her work defined her, that if she ever stopped painting, that her work was all she had, so if she stopped, she’d just die.”

“Or the person she was would cease to exist. Like she's no longer the person she was before she had stopped.” I said back.

“... That’s what I thought.”

“Do you think,” I cut off the gauze, neatly tucking it in on itself, “that your work on the wall brought you away from who you really were?” He didn’t answer me. “That the Doughboys pulled you away from it so it would change you?” he didn’t look at it me, so I figured I was getting close. “I know my work changed me. Times were getting tough, and I was days from getting kicked out, nowhere to go, and people already looking for me. Hell, I’m Pan, but to everyone else, I was the ‘gay kid’ it was okay to pick on. There were death threats and everything, so I started looking up things on the deep web to try to fix my problems.”

The look on Nny’s face told me to keep going, that I couldn’t just stop a story like that. So I started again, “I RUINED people. Their lives. And then someone messaged me. I was close to a person they wanted, a guy in my college at the time. This... short dick with too much confidence, and apparently he was a wanted figure in the community. For what, didn't know... or care. I couldn’t refuse the five thousand I was given, the broke college student I was didn’t want to. I never knew who either of them was, or what happened, and I was... Okay with that. and whenever I needed money, I'd just look for that kind or easy work. And then... it was all I did.”

“At least you know what happened. I just have vague memories of the few past years. Anything past that is just. POOF! Nothing.”

“I sometimes wish I couldn’t remember. I never knew the end of those people, but I just assume that as soon as they’re handed off, it’s their deaths.”

“...I’d like to know. I’d like to know what made it all go so wrong…” Johnny fidgeted, almost looking guilty from what he had said. As if he knew it was a memory he was glad he didn’t have, but knew he needed.

“... Want your wrap?”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mention a painting I drew, so here it is on my Tumblr:
> 
> http://shadowsdarklight2.tumblr.com/post/173692307818/weird-thing-i-did-for-an-art-class

(Nny’s POV)

I wonder if I accidentally have a type. Tall, stalky, artistic people. They seem to be the few I’d miss. Those who are willing to look past imperfections and abstractions to see what’s really there beneath it all. The ones who can see what’s really wrong.

I missed Devi, but she’s moved on. I followed her to a few of her dates. They all seemed terrible, but she’s forcing herself to move past me, so I’d let her. I’ve done enough to her poor mind. I don’t think she even knows what I really do when I’m home alone.

The house, the house is the problem. I can’t remember right when I’m there. When I’m close to the wall. My memory of the place is spotty as all hell. I know where rooms are, as if by memory, but I couldn’t think of how I KNEW about them. I’ve never been to half the rooms, the chambers, the devices, but I know exactly what they are... and how to use them. Like a drone of a hive mind. Like a zombie. A puppet to its master. To the wall.

I was nothing but another Doughboy, only with a working body. The only one that could leave because of the entity inside the walls.

That’s the working theory at least.

Being away felt better. An intense amount of uncertainty and anxiety, but still… better. Better knowing that I JUST wasn't THERE.

“What do you paint?” I asked out of nowhere. We were now sitting on the couch flipping through channels. I was still handcuffed to the side table, a heavy wood I didn’t bother thinking about lifting. No need to (and it looks too heavy).

He looked at me, quickly clicking a channel for a cartoon for background noise. “Well,” he started, truly having to think before he spoke. “People mostly. Ones I know, or knew, or wish I knew, or even people I just wished existed mostly.”

“Are you good at it?”

“I think I am? But then again, what artist doesn’t. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think I was at least decent at it. I Can’t do anything too complicated normally. Like, if I am drawing someone from memory, I tent to contort and exaggerate and simplify everything. I like things simplified, I would want everything to be less complicated. If it was only that simple.”

“But I guess that’s the point,” I finished for him. “If everything was simplified, the world would be more pointless than it already is. We’d just be drones, following anyone that seemed remotely intelligent, and we’d get dumber as a society without having to figure shit out on our own.”

“Drones,” he repeated. “I like that word, it’s so perfect for describing things.” And then he said it again. “Are we drones?” he wondered aloud, sinking into his chair and staring at the television, but not truly watching it. I could see the lights and colors bouncing off his eyes in the dimming room, but they never once focused on the actual movement of the screens.

“Yes,” it was the only right answer I could give. His nails picked at the couches leather, trying to get his brain to focus on the television, but it wasn’t working. “Do you have any pieces here?”

“Yeah.”

“I almost want to ask if I can see them, but last time I asked that I got slapped… And she got a knife in her spleen.” I don’t know what kind of reaction I was looking fro by saying that. I’m not even sure if I’m remembering right. Everything’s so fuzzy. It’s hard to remember through the fuzzies.

“You can see them if you want, just… I can’t promise you’ll be impressed.” I thought that might have gotten me uncuffed. Not that I’d run (or could), but these are NOT comfortable. Instead, he got up and walked down the hall. After a few clicks and locks, he came back holding a large sketchbook and a smaller one in the other hand. “You’d probably like both hands to be usable, right?”

“It would be nice,” I smiled up at him while he pulled the key out his back pocket. He set them down on the couch, only the largest notepad being our spacer as he sat back down. So like, a good two feet. Probably less. The larger notepad’s paper looked like it was meant for acrylics and watercolors, which I gladly found inside as I opened it. Some weren’t finished, and most looked like he had given up halfway through. Either having abandoned the idea or not having it there in the first place. A few were actually pretty good though, or at least I thought so.

I could see him leaning over, wondering what page I was on, trying to gauge my reaction to the pieces. There was a soft music coming from the speakers while the show played. Something calm and soft; Kevin MacLeod, maybe? I couldn’t tell what the show even was, I didn’t watch programs much.

I could tell when I got to a piece he was proud of. Something that had extra lines, and the perfect amount of care put into it. Something that made his heart beat a little louder because he wanted me to be proud of them too. It was an oddly familiar feeling. To want someone to be proud of you.

“I like this one,” I felt like saying. And I did to one. One that looked like him, but wrong. The proportions were all there, but the nose was crooked, and there were more wrinkles and age spots and everything was done in vibrant blues as it opened up to show the teeth that had gone missing over the years.

“I’m proud of it.” I could look up and see his face. Lips tight between his teeth as he tried not to smile at the comment. His blue eyes even brighter with the light of the screen being soaked into them.

“Can I ask what it’s supposed to be?”

“When I turned twenty I went through an existential crisis. In a way at least. The thoughts of aging and death getting to me more than they normally did, so my only outlet was…” and he gestured towards the piece. “You ever have that?”

“You mean the dread?” He nodded, “Every day I was in that fuckin’ house. God, I hated myself. I still do, for the things I do and have done. The only reason I haven't killed myself is because of the crisis itself. I wanted answers.”

“To what? Life?”

“I guess. I have no idea, I just knew I’d know it when I found the answer.” And then it was silent. The sad song just played in the background now. I think it might be Beethoven now that I’m paying attention.

“You know how I see it now?” He started again, catching me off guard as I set down the larger notepad. He had opened up the smaller one and started sketching something. “I don’t see it as a true answer, like there’s not just one thing that’s the definitive truth.” I could hear the soft lead dragging across the smooth surface of the paper. Sharp angles and quick lines. “I don’t believe in god or gods or anything above us that has gives us purpose. I’m not going to dictate my life around anything, nor will I bother looking for answers if doing so keeps me from doing what I want to.”

“So then what’s your… summary then, I guess?”

“Life… is an experience. So I’m going to live every moment doing whatever I want.” He said proudly. And his head lifted to mine when I let out a laugh.

“So what you want, is to watch cartoons and draw while a sociopath watches you.” And we both smiled and laughed at how utterly ridiculous it sounded out loud.

“I wouldn’t call you a sociopath, but, yeah. This was a good day.”


	18. Chapter 18

(Roy’s POV)

He was curled up in the sleeping bag again when I opened the door, though this time he was sitting on top of the chair with his feet hanging off the edge. Day four of six... I guess.

I wonder what the client was doing right now? He hasn’t called at all to check in on his pick up. Was he preparing for when his new ‘prisoner’ came in? Was he prepared for his cuffs to be ‘accidentally’ unlocked. Or to have the knockout dart ‘wear off too fast.’

I wonder what Johnny would do to him.

I wonder what he WILL do him.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” I had to ask. Every time I see him like this, early in the morning (even though I kept the lights on, so I don’t think his body could understand the time shift) he looks tired.

“Not in a long time. I was in a sleep study once, for insomniacs. They said I started showing improvements, but I stopped going. I would go months without sleep, but when I was in the program I was able to sleep almost once a week. I think it’s getting worse again.”

“Why’d you stop going?”

“... THEY told me it was a waste of my time. That going to the meetings and that sleeping was a waste. I liked the doctors there, I wonder if they miss me?”

“Do you dream when you sleep?”

“Nothing I could remember. Do you dream?”

“Sometimes. They’re not pleasant, but sleeping pills knock me out so hard I can’t remember them. It’s not that bad. Do you want to make breakfast with me? What would you like?”

A nod came, and we decided on eggs before he followed me up the stairs. I still had all the doors locked. I even took the necklace off, hiding the key on another part of my body just in case, but I don’t think he needs to be held down like a dog anymore. Probably.

I let him run to the upstairs bathroom, getting him a new change of clothes while I waited for him. And I was strangely delighted when he walked out, dressed all in black and smelling like mints

“You like the shampoo? I could get another brand if you want. Anything you like?”

“Not really. Haven’t taken a decent shower in a while. Normally just coat everything in antiseptic and sanitizers. Where everything’s bitter and burning. And smells like a cheap hospital.”

“Why no shower? Doughboys didn’t let you, or was it broken, or…?” I asked, cracking four eggs onto the pan, two in each hand (and getting the whites god damn EVERYWHERE, cause I can’t aim). They immediately started to sizzle and fry.

“It’s filled with fluids. And body parts. And different chemicals to drain the fluids from those parts…” He stood near the fridge, looking awkward... and annoyed (at how obviously awkward he knew he looked).

“Speaking of fluids, could you write down ‘orange juice’ to the list taped to the fridge?” I asked, tossing a felt-tipped marker at him.

The soft felt seemed to be the only thing I used to write with, in this house, aside from the pencils I kept in my room. They were soft and smooth, and it was hard for anyone to cause damage with them if they found one.

Johnny caught the marker with ease, scribbling it down on the paper. He set it back down on the counter, before slowly starting to chuckle to himself.

“What?”

“This is just so bizarre! This is weirdly the most tranquil, close to normal few days I think I’ve EVER had! A far as I can remember at least.”

“Heh, I like how being kidnapped and captivated is your version of a good weekend.” He smiled at that, and I couldn’t help but laugh. It’s ridiculous. Everything about this has been ridiculous!

As abnormal as my life normally is, this is the weirdest it’s been in a while. “You want cheese in these?”

“Nah,” he said, opening up the fridge, “You want milk?”

“Sure.” And as abnormal as this all was. This is the most normal my life has been too. My phone rang loudly through the house as I poured out the cooked eggs onto a plate. I ran to the living room, where I had left it, picking it up. It was the client. “Hello?”

“Is he still there!?” The voice said, raspy and terrified, similar to how he sounded when he first confronted me about the offer.

“Uh, yeah, he's still in the basement, why?” Johnny's head poked through the walkway, looking at me from the kitchen as I walked back to make some toast.

“Is he awake?”

“Why does that-”

“IS HE AWAKE!?” Johnny tilted his head, able to hear the scream through the speaker. I just looked at him as he shrugged.

“N-no? He’s asleep. Or unconscious, whichever you wanna call it.” I said, shrugging back at Nny. I held my finger to my lips at Johnny, putting the phone on speaker so I could continue making food. (And being lazy.)

“Has… has he tried to escape?”

“A few times, but I think he’s learned to lesson,” I winked at him as he shoveled the eggs into his mouth. He almost choked at how surprised he was at the gesture but tried to stop himself. He didn’t want the mysterious voice to hear him after all.

(Nny’s POV)

The stranger on the other line talked and rambled. Asking questions Roy seemed too bored to answer.

I almost wanted to laugh at how funny it all was. Like a shitty nineties sitcom where everyone is a terrible person. So… yeah, a nineties sitcom (just, all of them, really).

The glances that he gave me while the caller talked were mischievous. Playful and almost provocative in a scene. Fun in a way that, one wrong noise could fuck it all up. It was both thrilling and not at the same time, it was only over the phone after all. If there was more at stake it would be more exciting, but I digress.

The looks he gave me over the table made me feel like I was going to break a rib from the inside. Like my organs churned, as if someone had stuck a screwdriver directly into my lungs and stomach in one piercing blow. Yet somehow, the feeling was not entirely unpleasant.

It was a familiar feeling. Something I didn’t get often, but it was still familiar.

And I needed it to stop.


	19. Chapter 19

(Roy’s POV)

He’s gone.

Fucking gone.

The buyer is coming TOMORROW, and he’s FUCKING GONE!

I don’t know how, or when, or even why he left. The light in the room looked like it had gone out, and the door to his cell was hanging by the locks, the hinges pried from the drywall. They were mangled and terrifying. Almost as if an animal had broken it, and not a human.

I’m fucked. I am absolutely fucked.

The front window was broken too. I don’t know how one human could possibly break through reinforced glass, but he did.

I am the most fucked I’ve ever been.

This is how I die. The client is going to put a price over my head because I didn’t deliver him his false trophy of a psycho. I could feel the back of my eyes burn at the fact. The tears, pooling above my lashes, ready to spill at any moment because I knew I had no escape from this. No more TIME for this! He was gone, and not only was I FUCKED… I missed him. And I’m afraid I’ll never get to see him again, now that he’s gone. For a single day of my life, I felt normal. He made me feel NORMAL...

I could always go to his house. See if he’s there? I knew where it was, that’s how I followed him to the cafe, but I never looked inside the place.

Maybe I’d get to see the wall.

Maybe I was afraid to go inside.

But I wasn’t even able to imagine what it may look like, as the front door was knocked on. It was probably Connie, wondering why the window was broke, or even why the bushes outside that window were completely smashed under johnny’s weight. The nose thing. Helpful, but she wanted to know things I shouldn’t tell her. Couldn’t tell her.

But instead of it being the cute nosy neighbor…

It was Johnny.

Johnny, standing in the doorway as I held it open. His eyes were wide and wild and desperate as he looked at me. Almost collapsing to the ground, I was able to grab him, pulling him into the house.

He was covered in blood.

I don’t know from who, or where, but I couldn’t even ask as he wondered, “Could I use your shower… again?” And so he did. Stick and wet and cold, he crawled into the upstairs tub and let the water blast on cold. He didn’t bother closing the door. Didn’t even bother taking the clothes off, just let it all rinse off.

I didn’t mind much that he was in there a while. I didn’t have a water bill, he could waste as much water as he wanted, could be in there as long as he needed to, but… not alone.

After a few minutes, I felt the need to step in. I don’t even know how long I had been standing outside the partially opened door before I decided to walk in, but he didn’t seem to notice me. Or if he did, he showed no reaction.

Johnny was shivering violently as he sat at the bottom of the tub, letting the water hit at him like freezing rain. Whether he was shivering from the cold, or from what I can only presume was his past actions, I wouldn’t know until I asked him. But, for now, I didn’t ask him. I just sat on the edge of the tub, reaching for the shampoo as I started picking out pieces from his hair.

Pieces of drying blood, and chunks of skin that were not his own. Thick, unknown clumps of visceral objects I would have to dissect just to find out what tissue it was before I could even TRY to tell which organ it belonged to. His head buried deeper in between his knees, hiding any part of his face he could from me. I didn’t blame him.

I would’ve almost been content with the amount I had gotten out, but I wasn’t. There was more. There seemed to just be more and more, stuck to the clothes, stuck to the skin, as if it was pressed into it and let to set there.

I got in the tub behind him, soap loose in my hands before I started to rub it in. Scratching at the scalp. And he flinched away.

“You should know by now, I don’t like being touched-” he tried, voice small, yet demanding.

“Well, I’m going to, so knock it off.” He flinched again at that, shaking more. I continued to sud up the thick black hair, harder, finally feeling the base of his skull through all the gore. It was coarse and choppy in all the right AND wrong places. An impossible style to pull, yet here he was.

The water was freezing, but the heat radiating off the kid was making it bearable. Not by much, but still. The bottom of the tub was a swirling of reds and browns and blacks being carried by the water, down to the drain. The drain that was slowly being taken over by the chunks, now drained of any color or meaning except garbage.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked suddenly, foam finally rinsing from the mess on his head. And my hands went soft again. Something comforting and soothing, and warm against the cold fabric of his back. “Mad that I left?”

“... Yes.” he curled further into himself, arms tightening around his knees and face. “Worried mostly,” I spoke again. I pulled his body back against mine with little resistance.

“Sorry,” he spoke softly.

“It’s okay.” But it wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t, because he was crying. Hot tears pulled down his face as he continued to mumble sorries to me and himself.

And I would have just let him be. Let him cry and mentally figure things out, but I did what I thought I had to. I knew I wanted to know what happened. 

I wanted him to talk about it. Talking forced you to think clearly enough to form words, it helped you think clearly. Makes you HAVE to think about it. So I asked him.

“What happened?”


	20. Chapter 20

(Nny’s POV)

When the light went out, all I could hear was screaming. Screaming, SCREAMING. Not loud, but right into my ears. I could feel the tissue vibrate it was so loud, so close, I felt like my head might explode!

“GET HOME, COME HOME,” it said. “IT’S GETTING OUT,” It warned, it LIED. And I left, thinking the only way to get the voice to stop was to do just DO IT. To just do what it said.

Because the voice was scared, he was scared, I was scared. Of what, I wasn’t sure.

Fear of uncertainty... probably?

I don’t know how I got home. It… it was like a blackout, I had no consciousness of my actions, or how any of it happened. I just remember walking up to my door, with my arm and leg in intense pain. But I was on a mission, so I paid it no mind.

Walking inside was a mistake. The smell hit me first; a pungent, rotting smell, and a thick copper scent. Something I knew was from the broken air conditioning, and the rooms overheating. The basements would be cold on the lower levels, but up here… The room boiled. The flesh and gore and blood were dried, caked in places, and pooled in others, almost like a gell. It was so hot the pools almost smelt cooked, it was so warm I couldn’t believe how humid it also was. That humidity was possibly the only thing keeping the blood pools from completely drying over into a dark crust.

The other thing I noticed were the screams. Oh, the screams. Why did I miss them? I both hated and enjoyed the sound. My mind found the sound distasteful, and yet, my body walked towards it.

And then I saw it.

The wall. The dripping mass that it was, barrier almost through. It was thin and blackening, cracking off just as fast as it was being eaten. And the monster on the other side. The master of this all. Of this house, of the Doughboys, of my MIND! ALL OF IT!

I could almost see the thing. Incomprehensible and huge, like some Lovecraftian behemoth, unmet to be seen by human eyes. I could see it though. Almost through the wall, but not in clarity, no… I could only see it because it was pressed against the plaster. The plaster that isn't ACTING like plaster. It was like a dull needle was trying to rip its way through latex, the barrier was GIVING. It was bending and warping, and it was TERRIFYING!

And it needed to be covered.

The Doughboys tried to talk to me. Psycho wanted me to cover the wall, and I would, I will, but he’s not the only one with an opinion. Mr. Eff is yelling at me too. “Why would you come back, why couldn’t you just stay away…”

I was not welcomed in my own home.

I don’t know where I went really. I don’t remember what room it was. I don’t know how many people I found exactly, but anyone that was movable, I brought them into the room. The room with the wall. And I set them up in a circle in front of it. Maybe thirty… probably more. Whoever I could find to do this with. Anyone I could get and get this done with and get out as fast as I could.

I didn’t want to be here.

They all struggled and screamed. The ones with arms scratched at me if their hands got loose enough. The ones with legs kicked at me as I dragged them up the steps. I don’t know how many times I ran up and down stairs with bodies, sometimes I was able to carry two at once. Sometimes they struggled too much to get another person on my shoulder. So many almost escaped, I was being reckless. I couldn’t let them go, I didn’t have enough time to find more, I needed to leave.

I have no idea where I got the explosive from. I had no idea why I even had them in the first place, or when I got them. I didn’t like thinking about these things though. I didn’t like being confused for this long. Or at all. It was a heavy one, could probably take out

I didn’t care where it came from, but I knew where it was going.

I set the time, tossing it into the center of my crowd. I hid behind a handful of bodies, making sure I wasn’t going to be like one of them, caught in the blast.

Their screams grew as soon as they saw it. Shrill and obnoxious and loud. My ears felt like they would slip, but the detonation of the thing was worse. The two people I was safely behind weren’t dead, but they would be soon with the amount of scarring and blood loss. But the rest of them.

Gone. Obliterated. Blown to such small bits, they were just a thick paste of burnt flesh and liquefied insides up against the wall. And the other wall. And the other two as well

And the ceiling.

And there was even MORE on the floor now, but that wasn’t my problem.

Mr.Eff was laughing at me. Glad that the wall was finished for now, was safe for now, but he LOVED the way that it happened. It sickened me.

It sickened me that I still felt full at the fact that I accomplished something. That for the time being I was safe. Relief that I wouldn’t have to worry about it for a while. I enjoyed watching death, watching the death of my collection of terrible people. The poison that bleeds through society, making it worse. Not a single person here deserve life in my eyes. Even in their final moments, they didn’t pray, or beg forgiveness, or ask for final words. The only few that asked a sensible question, that went without answers, were the ones that asked why. They asked why, but only in a way that suggested ‘they did nothing wrong.’ That they were such nice people, ‘they never did ANYTHING to me.’ That they had NO reason to be here, but that’s just the thing.

After Edgar, I had few people that didn’t deserve it. In one way or another (unless I was desperate).

Psycho was mad at me even more now. Pretending to sob in the corner. But Bunny… Bunny was happy for me. Not about the deaths, no, but about… Roy.

He was glad I made a friend. Glad that friend wasn’t dead. Hopes that he won’t end up dead. I hope he doesn’t either. That’s... new.

Only one of the three hated that I left. One was happy, one was pissed, but I wasn’t wanted in that house.

I tried… I tried explaining this to Roy, when I came back to his house. HIs home. Warm, but not unbearably so. I tried to explain things to him as best I could. But all I seemed to be able to make out was… I’m sorry.


	21. Chapter 21

(Roy’s POV)

“I used to think… I used to wish someone could just- would just turn me off. Be able to shut me off and fix me,” he finally said. After an hour of half rational mumbles of sorries and explanations, he finally spoke an understandable sentence. I could make out his story, the explanation, but it was all in short responses. He didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to remember it, or have done it, but he had to. He was trying to block it from his memory, and I didn’t blame him. I didn’t stop him. I understood enough of it.

“Fix you how?” I tried. He was curled up on the couch, hugging his knees to his chest again. Blanket, draped over his shoulders as he shivered. We were both still in the wet clothes, still soaking wet. The carpet was damp and weird under my socks, but that didn’t matter. He was okay.

“I don’t know, just... fix me! So I would function like a normal person. Think like a normal person. BE a normal person.” He looked up at the television that wasn’t on, shifting his feet against each other. He was barefoot. I had no idea how he got to his house and back without shoes, but I didn’t question it. I think I’ve learned not to question Johnny at this point. “I want YOU to try and fix me.”

“Why me?”

“... You’re the only one I have left. The only human that doesn’t make me feel like pathetic filth. Someone that’s not scared of me.” He buried his head into his knees, not hiding his face though. No, he looked at me when he spoke now. Not in the eyes, but it was good enough. He uncurled from his pleasant ball, his feet joining mine on the soaking carpet. “Why aren’t you scared of me?”

I put my hands on his back, water from the clothes slowly seeping through the blanket. He flinched for a second, looking as if he’d say ‘don’t’, but he didn’t. I wouldn’t listen, I’m touchy. Human contact is warm and soothing. So I traced my hand up and down his spike lightly. Watching him go back and forth between shivering and relaxing at each movement and touch.

“You haven’t done that much to make me afraid. You’ve said threats, sure. You never attacked me.”

“I had something more important to get done. If I hadn’t needed to get back home… I would have. I would have killed you. You know that, right.” It wasn’t really a question.

“I’m afraid to some extent.” He looked over at me, finally meeting my eyes. “I don’t know how mentally unstable you might be. Or when you’re in control, or not. Or even if you’re crazy at all.” He didn’t say anything to this. “I’ve heard your voices too, which makes me think that.. It might ALL be real. Everything you’ve said and done seems to point to it being real…”

“I don’t even know if it’s real anymore. Anyone I’ve kidnapped, or tortured, or killed tells me I’m crazy. That I’m insane, for no reason. That nothing I say makes sense, or it’s not real. I can’t even tell the difference anymore. I just assume everyone’s against me, plotting against me, trying to take me away from the work I don’t even want to do anymore. But there’s just this maddening compulsion to do their bidding, and I think it got worse and worse. Worse because I’ve been doing it for so long I had no other frame of reference. No normal outlook on life. My memories so liquified, they just mix together into an unrecognizable mush. I can remember days, weeks, months, but I don’t think they’re in order. I know they’re not! There are huge pieces, chunks, of time just MISSING! And I have no idea what I’ve done within those lengths of time. I just know…” He was rambling. He knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop until he looked back up at me. “I just know that those blackouts mean there are more people in my house.”

“They make you gather them. For the wall. So you don’t have to leave… right?”

“That’s the closest thing I’ve heard.” And then it was silent. For a moment. “Should I go back?”

“What for?”

He paused, thinking for a moment. “Gather my things, clothes… get away from it.”

“Just abandon it, or what.”

“No… not just abandon it. I’d burn it. Burn it down. If it’s this, this kind of doorway, its master is what’s dragging me down like I think it is, I want to make sure there’s no door for it to come through.”

“What if burning it down is what it wants. What if it releases it?”

“I’ll take that chance.”

“When do you want to do it… Like, now? I can drive if-”

“No. Not right now, too soon. It’s too soon.”

“... When then.”

“Day after tomorrow... maybe.”

“...okay”

And then silence. And it was okay. He didn’t talk anymore after that. I think he was thinking it all through. I knew I was. I knew where he lived, I saw the outside of it, and all I could imagine was the entire thing going up in flames.

I patted his back, reaching over his lap for the remote and flipping on… Something. One of those old movies that are only released on television. Not a bad movie, no. Slow moving, unknown actors, forgettable story, but not entirely BAD.

Johnny must have thought so though. Because he fell asleep.

He was able to fall asleep…

It was barely seven in the morning, I had woken up at around four am when I checked on him.

He must be exhausted. From everything.

My room wasn’t exactly ‘clean’ like the rest of the house. There were paints and cups everywhere. Canvases half finished and wet, pieces thrown about. But the important thing was, the bed was cleared.

Another flinch as I got my arm under his legs, blanket still wrapped around him. I had the covers pulled back as I set him down, soaking wet clothes and all.

If he were to hurt me, it would definitely be to waking up while I took his pants off. He was wearing underwear, sure, but he could keep those. I know from experience, it doesn’t feel great to wake up in dried denim.

I’m surprised he hadn’t woken up when I got the shirt off. And I could just feel his chest, I hadn’t meant to, but it was hard not to. And to see it… Underweight was an understatement. I don’t think he was even 115lbs, he shouldn’t be able to fight time he does. There was muscle, sure, but not enough calories to sustain them. I could see every bump and valley of the ribs. Dark bruised skin covered the original pale complexion. Bruises I hadn't seen before now.

All I’d have to do is reach out, run my hands against it. Feel it, flesh on flesh.

But I couldn't.

So I pulled the covers up to his chin. Continuing to clean my room.


	22. Chapter 22

(Nny’s POV)

It’s not that I woke up in a strange room, in someone else's bed. No. It’s that I WOKE UP. Meaning I had fallen asleep at some point. Shit.

I don’t know how fast I bolted up, but it was fast enough to make Roy jump on the other side of the room. He was sat down on a little stool in front of an easel, painting… something. There was a sketchbook next to it that e seemed to be copying the lines from.

He had a window open and a fabric face mask to cover his mouth as he used certain spray paints too. The room smells like acetone and acrylics but the window helped. Kinda.

“Where am I?”

“My room.”

“How long.”

“What?-”

“HOW LONG WAS I… Was I asleep?” He turned back to the canvas, looking at the clock on the shelf.

“About two hours, little less.”

“Why didn’t you wake me- AH!”

I AM NAKED!

“WHY AM I NAKED!?” I pulled the blanket around me, trying to hide what I’m sure he’s already seen.

His voice was calm, smooth, like the paint. Reassuring in the oddest ways that made me question my emotions. He was using a lot of reds.

“You were wet, I didn’t think it’d be comfortable.” His voice was still soft, too calm for my liking.

“You could have just woken me up, I would have changed-”

“I wanted you to sleep. Looked like you needed it.” He finally turned around, looking at me. I was completely wrapped in the blanket, safe for my head. That was left out so I could glare at him. But then we locked eyes.

“Do you know what it’s like…” I started, not sure exactly where I was going with this, “What it’s like to wake up, and wonder if anything is even real? To have such a dissolution with humanity that you’re scared as soon as you fall asleep, you'll wake up from the dream you think might be reality. Everything changed and confusing, unknown. To wake up and not know if it’s still a dream, or nightmare that you’ll never get to wake up from again… I don’t want to wake up from this. I don’t want to go back to being manipulated and hated in my own home…”

I never knew when to stop talking, but I think this time it was okay. He Looked at me, smile gone, face sad and…

He set his work down, paint being set on his desk. I think at one point it was white, but it was covered in so much paints and drinks that it was hard to tell. Every part of his house was clean, except his room. Clothes, weapons, confiscated materials and objects from his ‘work’. I could hurt him with so many things, it was dangerous for me to be in here. It was dangerous for him to be in here with me.

“This isn’t a dream…” He tried, sitting on the edge of the bed. Fabric mask still tight against his face.

“How can you be sure?” I never could be, things are so hazy in reality, and so realistic in a dream, it all looks the same. Normally it doesn’t matter, but now that I have a plan, I don’t want it to all be lost. “I don’t want to wake up and have everything I’ve worked towards vanish… or not remember it… not remember you…” I mumbled the last part, hoping he wouldn't hear it. I don’t think he did, but still… it was nice to say out loud as if he did.

“Well… I don’t think it’s a dream… if it is, is it a good one?”

“... Yes. It has been a good dream. For the most part.”

“What was the not so good part?” he asked. It was comforting in a strange way. To have someone ask you questions.

“When I left… Keep asking questions, I like this.”

“Like what? The conversation?”

“Yeah, it’s distracting. I can’t hear the voices, but it’s like- like static. Like the snow on the TV between channels. Just, in the back of my brain, static, where the voices used to be before they left.” Did they ever really leave? I don’t hear them there anymore, but I can never NOT hear the static! Like a crinkle of a paper against my skull...

"I like it too. The conversations. I like talking to you. Hearing you speak. Like a screaming dead poet, clawing his way from the grave to reclaim something. But he's forgotten what he's come back for."

"Maybe I came back for..." For you. Shut up, that's shit. Don't say it out loud!

At this point Roy had gotten up and sat down again, handing me a change of clothes. I didn’t even bother to ask him to leave. Knowing him, he probably wouldn't have. Leaving me alone in a room full of weapons and an open window? Yeah, no, sure. Fuck you.

I pulled the blanket over me, changing in the darkness under the comforter.

When I came back up, I was met eye to eye with my kidnapper. Fuck it was weird to think that way…

And, out of nowhere, he kissed my nose. He kissed my nose…

But it wasn't like last time. The fabric was still in the way, so nothing really… touched, but I felt it again. That DRILL through my lungs that made that unpleasantly pleasant pain in my torso…

He was smiling at me again. Soft and small and hard to see with the mask.

And then Roy leaned down again. Flesh on fabric, nothing touching, but our lips were on the same spot on each side of the mask… He kissed me.

Kiss, kissed me. The closest thing I think I’ve EVER had to a kiss. Or anything of the sort. And I... didn’t hate it.

I even kissed back…

I- I think. More of a push back towards him, but that’s all it really was now wasn’t it? Right?

I wanted to say something. But when he leaned back I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t find a single cohesive thought to explain the tightening burning behind my ribcage. It hurt in the best of ways and I never wanted it to stop, and the only way I could still feel like this… the only way I could still FEEL was…

With him.

“Let’s get you ready for tomorrow.”


	23. Chapter 23

(Roy’s POV)

This is it. If the shit were to hit the metaphorical fan hard enough to kill me; today was the day!

Johnny was twitching, trying to keep still enough to look unconscious. Hands haphazardly tied behind his back. Not enough duct tape around his ankles. We were ready.

I even kept a knife in my sleeve for safety, having everything else locked up. Even if we agreed on no weapons, it was rare that people listened.

The front door was unlocked, but everything else was still sealed up tight. As it should be. I was getting texts nonstop on my burner phone about every turn and update on location. He was making sure Johnny was safe, unconscious, tied up, quite. Everything!

The doorbell rang, zapping a shock of adrenaline through me when I finally saw the client.

He was just a teen. Maybe 19 or 20, but far too young to have this kind of money, and definitely too young to be dabbling in this business.

“Are you… ‘M’?”

“Jimmy,” he spoke quickly, pulling my hand from the door and shaking it without warning. “Feel free to call me Mmy. Like, like the end of Jimmy-”

“Like Nny, I got it.” I looked at where our hands met before pulling away, “That could get you stabbed in my line of work. I don’t suggest-”

He kept his hand where it was, only putting it down as he began to push his way into my house without another word.

“- Doing it again…” I finished, mumbling to myself. How does one threaten an idiot? “He’s on the couch. Hands and feet bound, and he’s unconscious. That’s how you wanted him, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, he’s perfect!” he spoke. Johnny’s lip twitched in annoyance, but the loon thankfully didn’t notice. Instead, he clasped his hands together and tilted his head, like a cartoon in love.

“I never got an answer… why did you want him anyway?”

“Oh, I wanted to talk to him, get to know him. That’s all. We’re very alike you see. Though, last time I tried to meet up with him I wound up getting pushed down a flight of cement stairs and had a knife put inside of me. But! That’s in the past!”

“You really think you can have a pleasant conversation with a man that stabbed you?” That actually sounds accurate in a way. I could probably still have tea and cookies with Nny as a shive stuck out of my side.

“No, he didn't just ‘stab’ me! He ah… carved open my stomach and placed the knife fully into my body. A great work of art in my book. Shore stumped the doctors when I came limping in. Ha!”

What brand of froot loops is he smoking?

“Artwork you say? I feel it may be a little more complex than that…” Johnny continued to slightly twitch as we kept talking. Just the corners of his lips and the tips of his fingers, nothing much, but the more he did it the more I worried Jimmy would notice.

“Oh, I’m sure there is. And I’d love to talk about it when he wakes up… What happened here?” He asked, gesturing towards Johnny’s arm.

“There was…” How do I explain this? “An incident. Got a gash up his arm, had to sew it up, nothing too major.”

“I see…” His eyes flicked from the body to his (I’m assuming stolen) car in my driveway.

“I’m not helping him to the car until I’m paid,” I stated quickly. I sat down next to Nny on the couch, lightly setting my hand on his head to try and stop the twitching that was getting worse. And my fingers through his hair seemed to help. Breathing slowed, twitches stopped…

“Right, right, of course.” He pulled out his phone, ready to send cash to my account, “Or…” he started again.

I reached for the knife tucked in my sleeve, now unable to feel it. Instead, he had it.

“What ‘Or?’”

“Hehe, or… I could gut you and keep my cash…” he spun the small butterfly knife in his hands, playing with it beautifully. Taking the artistic think a bit far with it. It truly would be majestic… well, as majestic as a 190cm tall idiot could be. “And leave you here to rot… I don’t need your help with my guest. What is he… like a 130… 140 pounds?” He asked stepping closer.

“53 kilograms.” A voice spoke. One that wasn’t mine.

Mmy froze. Johnny chuckled to himself, pulling his head off the couch to glare at the client as he spoke.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, like you don’t remember me!?” Mmy asked excitedly, immediately forgetting about me now that his trophy was awake. “I’m your big fan… remember!?”

“I think… I remember stabbing you several times in the chest…” Mmy just chuckled at that. Jimmy pulling me from my spot and pressing my back to his chest, knife to my throat. I was trapped. I could try to spin my way free, but he had the tip of it placed against my artery, I’d bleed out in minutes before anything good happened.

Johnny showed no reaction aside from annoyingly tearing off his restraints. But I could see through it, his eyes darted around every surface of the room. There was nothing to use as a useful weapon.

Jimmy let out a chuckle, “Was this the plan all along, Nny?” He asked, pressing the blade flat to my skin. “Was he a present for me? Is this why you didn’t kill this amateur when you had the chance?” I am fucked. WAY more fucked than before. The shit has hit the fan, I repeat, this shit is GOING TO KILL ME!

I was at a loss for words… so was Johnny, and we didn’t know how this could possibly turn out good. I couldn’t exactly tell him to play along. Not out loud.

Maybe he already knew.

“If we’re going to kill him… How do you want it done?”


	24. Chapter 24

(Nny’s POV)

“We!? You-you’re going to let me do this with you!?” the idiot asked excitedly, like a kid in a candy store. “Like Alexandros of Antioch and Michelangelo coming together to make a masterpiece! Brilliant.”

“I think you're getting your time periods wrong.” Seriously, no class. If you have the intelligence to know sculptures, at least know they wouldn’t work together. Or alive at the same time. Or century.

“Whatever.” The knife was pressed further into his neck for… Fun, I guess! I could see Roy swallow against the hold, Adam's apple bobbing against the blade. True fear flashing across his face. There wasn’t anything for him to do here, he had no control, no chance to escape. I had to give him one.

“Let me hold him. He’s got weapons locked up in the kitchen. See if you can pry anything open.” I thought he’d argue. Maybe make a good reason that he shouldn’t, or mention the fact that I didn’t even have a weapon. But nothing happened. Roy was thrust into my grip and he found his way into the kitchen. Jimmy (was that his name?) had a giddy look on his face as my hand wrapped its way around Roy’s neck keeping him in place, monstrous and disgusting.

He was going to die. I barely knew him, but in the twelve or so minutes he’s been in my presence, I knew… he deserved it. More than anyone else I’ve had my hands on before, and I haven't even touched him.

And Roy… now I don’t even have to look at him. I can feel him. Feel the bob of his throat drag against my hand as the other arm came around his waist to keep him from running. I could hear the idiot carving at the wooden counters to get the drawers open. And then hearing him scream ‘Fucking, spoons!’ when he pulled open the wrong drawer. Roy chuckled, sending a light vibration throughout my chest.

“Are you laughing at him or me?”

“Me. This. I don’t really know.”

“Well, what’s so funny?”

“... I’m pretty sure this is how I die. This is about what I pictured. The dreams… nightmares I’ve had about my life choices.”

“You’re expecting to die? From this idiot?” I almost laughed at myself.

Another chuckle, “Well, if you're involved, I don’t really know WHAT to expect. I never know...” His arms were still free, but instead of trying to escape… he hugged me. We were back to chest, but he put his arms behind him, behind me, and held his hands together. “I just ask, if it does happen today… make it fast.”

“That's a new one,” no one’s ever asked that before. They normally ask for some kind of forgiveness or plee for their lives, at least try. To have someone give in like this was… New. It was weird. It was wrong. “Not even gonna try?” All I got was a shrug. And his arms tightened around me, pulling me closer to him. The invasion of personal space wasn't what I normally enjoyed, but… I didn’t hate this. “Not afraid?”

“I don’t fear death… just how painful it might be to get there… I-”

“Daddy found a gun in the pantry!” was screamed across the room as Mmy ran in.

What the? “Why was there a gun in the pantry-”

“Fuck, I don’t know. Now let go of him, I wanna try to hit something,” Jimmy said. Pointing the gun at him. Roy’s arms tightened around my torso, keeping me in place. Not that I’d have moved anyway. His heart raced against my chest. He had a fear, everyone did. But he was smart enough to know when to quit at least.

“I thought you were gonna come back with like… A knife or something,” I tried, unsure of how to get out of this with a gun pointing at me. Through to me… whichever.

“I thought this would be easier-”

“I thought you wanted this to be fun!?” My voice was a little on edge, but he didn’t notice. No, he was too distracted by the stretching smile that crept to my features as I thought of all the ways this could go right for me. The many ways he would end up in my house as I burned it to the ground, body dead or alive, it didn’t matter.

“Than what the fuck am I supposed to do with this!?” He asked, firing a warning show into the living room’s ceiling fan.

“I liked that fan… Give the gun to me for more leverage and go find something else… something sharp.” He looked at me with a dark smile. Something I might be able to pull off, but the teen couldn’t with that ugly face. I smiled back and… the idiot gave it to me! Just… fucking unbelievable. “So… do you have any ideas how to get the drawers open?”

I held the gun loosely to Roy’s head, showing him that the safety was still on. Mmy wasn’t even smart enough to check if bullets were still in the thing before he started aiming, let alone cock the thing. He even made a gun useless.

“I don’t much like guns,” I said to no one in particular, ignoring his question.

“Uhm… Why not? They make things so much easier.”

“No, no, I know what YOU might use them for. I try to only use them for important things,” I pointed the gun at Roy, pulling the trigger for an uneventful click. If my hand wasn’t still around his neck, I wouldn't be able to tell that he flinched. “Maybe him.” I pointed the gun to my temple, another uneventful click. “Mostly me.”

My hand came away from his neck as I turned off the safety and cocked the pistol.

“But for you… I’ll make an exception.” I rested my arms on top of Roy’s shoulders as I fired, hitting the dumbass in his arm.

“FUCK!” Roy screamed. Well, Mmy screamed too, but it didn't quite make out words.

“I know right, how did I miss that?” Roy clammed his hands over his ears, falling to the floor in agony. My ears weren’t ringing, but I’m sure his hurt like hell. My copycat was in pain too, but who gives a shit.

One more bullet into his eye and it was over.


	25. Chapter 25

(Roy’s POV)

I think it’s over.

I had no idea how Nny managed to get this much gasoline, but he was pouring out the last gallon onto his porch as screams came from inside. Some plead for their lives… most swore and screamed calling us monsters.

Where hey wrong?

I could hear them too. The doughboys. The deep voice that didn’t seem to be able to leave the house, yelling at us. It called us useless. Pathetic. Depressed, incurable, corrupted, hated-

“Do you have the Zippo?” There were other voices too, and Johnny seemed relieved I could hear them too. I could hear the other one telling us that burning it would ruin everything, but not explaining why… and bunny. Nailbunny, I mean. A soft voice, almost too quiet to hear above it all.

It’s eyeless sockets looked past my soul and its lips didn’t move as it spoke.

“Thank you,” was all it said, eyeing me through the window as the lighter hit the trail and the front room was engulfed in flames.

“You okay?” I finally managed to ask Johnny. I had no idea how he could possibly be taking this. I couldn’t even try to comprehend how his mind dealt with this.

“It’s gone.”

“... Yeah.” I took a step back from the fire and sat down on his front lawn, looking up at the smoke as the last of the voices died out. He crouched next to me but didn’t sit.

“No, no, IT’S gone. There was a presence, a buzzing, a part where I-I could hear them. Their voices. What they said, but more clearly… and i-it, it’s gone. I can’t hear it.”

“Is that good?” I asked, not knowing what else to say.

“I don’t know.”

“How do you feel?”

“... I don’t know.”

“Are… YOU in control now?”

“Yes.” it was a simple answer and he knew it.

“Now what?” But we didn’t have an answer. He could stay at my house but I didn’t know for how long. And I didn’t know where he could go after.

“No fucking idea,” he stated, staring down at the bloodstains on my shirt as he finally sat down next to me. I had been the one to drag Jimmy’s body inside while Nny gathered supplies. Clothes mostly, a few snacks, loading them into the back of my truck. Anything he didn’t want burning, but there wasn’t much.

I fell back, looking at the sky as the stars were slowly covered in a layer of smog. Nny soon followed, finally speaking as the streets fell silent. “Is this what control feels like?”

“What do you mean?”

“To feel… in power, yet powerless at the same time. To know you have a choice in what you choose, but not knowing in the slightest what to do because nothing is presented to you as an option. To be… afraid you’ll make the wrong decisions, thinking they’re the right ones. Only to figure out you’ve made the wrong choice too late… or is it worse to not know at all?” The fire was too close for comfort, but the heat coming off of it was oddly welcoming.

“Wouldn’t it be better not to know? It’d make you feel better.”

“But if you don’t know, how can you prevent it from happening again?”

“I… have no idea.” I really didn’t. My hands rested by my sides, while his rested on top of his chest. Or… they did last time I checked. “Do you have things you’ve done… that you wish you could have prevented from happening now?”

“... Yes”

“Like what?”

“Some of the people I’ve killed. Like Edger. Or… scaring people away that I had… LIKED! Like Devi. Like Squee.” He looked over to his neighbor’s house that now had a for sale sign on it, and seemed completely empty. “Probably you.”

“I’m not running away yet, am I?”

“No. But you will, it always happens.”

“... Let’s change that.” The sky was a swirl of colors and smoke, the world silent, yet every small noise seemed to echo on forever towards the stars. That’s probably why I jumped when I hadn’t even noticed Nny’s movement until his hand touched mine.

I wanna say something romantic like ‘I could feel my heart in my throat,’ but in all honesty I was trying not to vomit up my entire cardiac system out of fear and anxiety. I squeezed his hand back, not letting him pull away, “What’s this for?” I asked, gesturing towards his hand by holding it tighter for a moment.

His arm twitched at the question, but he didn’t let go.

“For not running yet.” The surrounding air smelled like rotting pork and burning. And copper. The smoke was worse, now that the gasoline had burned through, and the fire was dying down.

Each time he spoke today… every word felt certain. He didn’t question what he was thinking. Not even when he opened the door and the voices screamed. In the air, through the walls, from his HEAD so loud that even ‘I’ could hear it.

I threw up in his living room. I mean, I apologized for it, but… My god the smell alone, topped off with the smoothy of organs strewn about thought the small room and up the wall. The wall that looked normal, but somehow coated in visibly less blood than the rest of the room.

“Hey guess what?” I spoke out of nowhere, in a way that would have startled normal people, but Johnny was still staring straight at the blurring sky.

“What?”

“I saw a human brain today.”

“Don’t they look weird?”

“Exactly.” He didn’t look at me, but I could still see his weird little smile creep onto his face.

And this was how we spent the rest of the night. Until the fire stopped. Until the sun started to come up… until the sirens in the distance were getting too close for coincidence. But before all that, we were just… two people. Two people who finally weren’t alone in a world this fucked up.

Finally not alone, because we had each other.

And that was fine.

It was all we needed.


	26. Extras After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got really sad one night and decided to write something to make me feel better. I regret nothing.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” Nny asked back.

“Scratch at your pocket. I know you're keeping a knife in there… what’s bugging you now?”

“The girl in front of us. She’s been taking twenty minutes to describe her fucking drink to the cashier. Just get your goddamn tea and MOVE!” The girl seemed to have heard that, turning around… and flipping us off.

It took a minute for the room to be empty. The first second was when the knife came out. The next two was enough time for it to be placed deep into her throat. And about twenty-four seconds for people to notice as she sank to the ground. The remaining thirty-three seconds was filled with panic, pushing and screaming as people fled from the scene.

“Shit… now, who’s gonna make my fucking coffee.”

“Didn’t really think that one through, did ya.”

“Please, don’t mock me,” he stated flatly as I walked behind the counter, pushing buttons on the espresso machine in an attempt to figure it out. “I know that wasn’t exactly graceful, but it did what I wanted!”

“Got your coffee? Cause that’s not what happened-”

“No, it killed the girl. That was the point.”

“We’re in a coffee shop. I think the point was to get coffee.”

“Maybe relieve some stress… it helped,” Nny finally admitted, knowing I wouldn’t stop poking him until I knew what he was thinking. It got my attention at least, forcing me to stop torturing this poor bean juice machine.

“Why would you be stressed?” He looked down at the floor. The steal to of his boot grinding the dumb girl’s blood into the grout if the tile, thinking about how he’d answer. And while he mulled over his answer, I started making tea. Because hot water was easier to make than figuring out a machine with too many fucking buttons.

“Hard to say.”

“Nny.” He looked up at me. “Is it because this is where we met? Where I knocked you out, and permanently screwed up your life?” Somehow that brought a small smile to his face as he continued to kick at the body.

“The most screwed up thing is… you were probably the nicest person to me that day… week. Month. Humanity is disgusting.” Moto we live by.

“Like the guy you were hunting the night, I found you?”

“Hunting makes it sound fun, I was doing it for the wall… you know that.” I don’t like it when he brought up the wall.

“Is the wall what you’re stressed about? Again?” We sat down at the same table we did when we met. I handed him a tea, just like that day. And unlike that day, he took a sip.

“I know you can’t understand it,” he rubbed his exposed finger gloves on the outside of the hot cup, while we watched the snow fall on the street outside, “but I had been in that house for so long… that I physically don’t remember how I got there. Or how it started. It’s weird to feel so… detached from who you once were.” I folded my legs on the chair as the blood leaked down the grout of the tiles closer to me. “My head feels so empty.”

“Is it better empty?”

“... sometimes.”

“And others?”

“Other times I feel as though there’s nothing but an echo. An intense doubt that we did something wrong… or that this was just a dream, and I’ll somehow wake up with a maddening bloodlust for torture and revenge. Again. Or that I’ll find some way to scare you off…”

“We’ve already been over this-”

“But those thoughts don’t go away, that’s what you don’t understand!” He stood quicker than I could say something back, letting his coffee be knocked to the ground as he stormed out into the snow. My boots sloshed against the salted pavement when I left to follow.

“Your car is locked,” he stated flatly, leaning against the passenger side, freezing his ass off while he was forced to stand outside in the cold.

I sat on the hood of it, letting myself get as cold as he was before I spoke again. “I’m sorry.”

“Then unlock the car,” he said against. Instead, I tapped the spot next to me.

He slowly walked to the front of the car, not getting on the hood, but standing in front of me, annoyed. “Not what I meant,” once he was finally looking at me again. I pulled the hood of my jacket up, covering my ears. “I’m sorry if I upset you… are you mad at me?”

“For what?”

“For not helping whatever you’re going through,” another small smile spread across his lips. Nny rubbed his hands together, his gloves not helping much in this weather. The pockets of my jacket only doing so much itself.

“At least you’re trying.”

I reached down, holding his hands in mine own in an attempt to help him heat them up. We could have just gotten in the car, but that wasn’t as fun as this. Pulling him a little closer, I was able to separate his hands, placing them on each side of my head. Under my jacket hood and against my skin. His fingers like ice against my neck and my skin probably burning against his hands.

“We should really wash those shoes,” I said, noting the bloodstains on the leather. I got a chuckle out of that one. I was even able to turn my head, pressing my lips against his palm.

And in an instant, the moment was ruined when the sirens started and then got closer. Blue and red lights were easily seen from several blocks away.

“Huh, their response time is getting better.”

“Can we get in your fucking car now, it’s freezing out here.”


End file.
